Shelter from Your Storm
by gypsyscarfwoman
Summary: Kurt decides that the best way to keep Jane safe from the CIA is to marry her, of course. AU after 2.09.
1. Chapter 1

Nine agents dead. Nearly twice that many injured, six still in the hospital in critical condition. Nine good men and women he'd sent into harm's way who hadn't come home. Nine grieving families he'd had to contact. Nine official inquiries he'd had to fumble through.

Nine more people he'd failed to keep safe.

Kurt Weller rubbed his forehead and grimaced. All he'd done for the past three days was notify families and answer the same questions, over and over.

And fight with Nas. She'd tried to throw Jane under the bus the minute Matthew Weitz appeared in the NYO with another warrant. She might have succeeded, too, had Patterson not been able to verify that Borden was a mole and had Jane not been able to back up her story by producing an angry and confused Roman. Nas had quickly changed her approach, deciding that since both Roman and Jane were now Shepherd's targets, they could be dangled as bait to lure Sandstorm out of hiding–an approach which would put Jane as well as her brother in as much if not more danger than she'd been in as a double agent.

More people in harm's way.

He shoved the paperwork on his desk away from him and glared through the window in front of him.

In the bullpen outside his office, the team was arrayed around Patterson's screen as she outlined the plan to return to tattoo decryption while they were waiting for a break in the Sandstorm investigation. To Patterson's right stood Nas, arms crossed in front of her, face impassive as she listened. Jane stood on Patterson's opposite side, her stance almost a mirror image of Nas's. No question that this working relationship was on rocky ground. But next to Jane stood Zapata and Reade, present in spite of the bulky bandage visible around his upper leg. Kurt wasn't sure if their show of loyalty was entirely conscious. Neither of them had fully forgiven Jane, but they also hadn't agreed with Nas's immediate conclusion that Jane was to blame for the explosion at the Sandstorm compound.

If he hadn't been watching his team so closely, he might have missed the tiny shift in Jane's posture. Her arms remained crossed over her chest, but she rotated slightly, straightening her spine and squaring her shoulders. _Preparing to fight_.

Kurt was out of his desk and moving out into the bullpen, scanning for the threat before he even registered that he was doing it. And then he saw the Deputy Director of the CIA, arms swinging loosely as he strolled into the middle of Kurt's team.

"So this is where the magic happens," Keaton drawled. "Or used to happen. Hasn't been too magical lately, I hear."

"What do you want, Keaton?" Kurt demanded, half a step behind him.

The other man turned slightly to face Kurt. "Heard you guys got some bad intel this week. Thought I'd come and see if I could offer any assistance in getting to the bottom of it," he said, looking for all the world as if he were offering to buy them a round of drinks. "But I must admit, I'm surprised to see that you're letting your 'asset' wander around like this. I was under the impression that she was the source of your bad intel."

If Kurt hadn't been glancing at Nas at that moment, he would have missed it. The tiny flicker in her eye at Keaton's words told Kurt _exactly_ where Keaton had gotten his information.

"Looks like you got some bad intel, too, Keaton," said Kurt, keeping his gaze steady and his tone of voice light.

"Are you sure? I could ask Ms. Doe a few questions for you. She and I have such a rapport, after all." Keaton flashed a large, toothy smile at Jane that did nothing to warm the malevolent glint in his eye.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kurt saw Zapata and Reade shift closer to Jane, in a silent show of solidarity. He was only slightly surprised. The agents may not have welcomed Jane back into the fold, but that didn't mean they were willing to hand her back to the CIA for more rounds of torture.

"I don't think that will be necessary," said Kurt. "If we need CIA assistance here at the FBI, I know who to call."

"Of course, I still have a few questions of my own that I'd love to ask your asset. Maybe I could just borrow her for a bit, while you're finishing up your investigation."

Kurt ignored Keaton's request, his attention fully focused on Jane. She hadn't moved, still stood with her arms crossed, the expression on her face completely blank. To any other observer, she probably looked relaxed, maybe even slightly bored by the proceedings. But Kurt wasn't any observer. He knew Jane, had seen her angry, upset, tense, uncertain. But the Jane he was looking at right now set every nerve in his body humming like a tuning fork, because this Jane was _terrified_. Her steady, unblinking gaze was trained on Keaton, her pupils so dilated that the green was little more than a slender ring around them. Her entire body was poised for either flight or violence, and Kurt wasn't going to wait to see which trigger went off first.

"Sorry," he said. "I'm afraid Jane won't be able to help you out, either now or in the future. But thanks for stopping by." He crossed his own arms, staring down the other man until he acquiesced with a shrug.

"Fine, I can wait. This farce has to end at some point." Keaton smiled at Jane again. "I'll be waiting for you."

"I'm sure you know the way out," Kurt said pointedly, mentally willing Jane to stay still.

With a last, speaking glance at Jane, Keaton pivoted and headed back toward the elevator.

The second he exited the bullpen, Jane bolted through the door behind her.

Kurt was already following. "Make sure he leaves the building," he murmured to Zapata as he passed her. She and Reade nodded, but Kurt didn't slow.

He pushed through the doorway into the hallway, just in time to see the door to the women's restroom at the opposite end of the hall swung shut.

He stopped outside the door, tempted to follow her in, but still rational enough to realize that bursting into the women's restroom might not be the best plan, especially if there was anyone else in there.

A moment passed and no one came out, and he couldn't hear anything inside. He pushed the door open just far enough that he could peek inside. The sink area was empty, all the stall doors open except for the one furthest from the door, from which emanated the faint sound of someone being sick.

He let the door close again, turning his back to it and planting his feet squarely in front of it. The door at the end of the hallway opened, and two female agents entered. They looked surprised to find him blocking the restroom door. He nodded to them, but crossed his arms over his chest and didn't move. They hesitated, exchanged glances, then turned around to head back through the door.

In the bathroom behind him, he heard a toilet flush, and then the sound of water running. With a last look around the empty hallway, he pushed through the restroom door and locked it behind him.

Jane was leaning over the sink, rinsing out her mouth. Her eyes widened when she caught sight of him in the mirror, and she straightened up, dragging the back of her hand across her mouth. "Kurt."

"Are you okay?"

Her spine grew even straighter. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine," he said softly.

"I am _fine_."

He scrubbed a hand over his face. She was the strongest, most stubborn woman he'd ever met, and he might have left it at that, if he couldn't still see the pale sheen of perspiration across her forehead. If he couldn't see the way her hands were trembling. If he couldn't practically hear her nerves jangling from five feet away. "Jane, you know that we're not going to let Keaton near you."

Her stormy green gaze clashed with his. "You're the one who handed me over to him last time. Forgive me if I don't find your assurances all that reassuring this time around."

He swallowed, but it did nothing to dislodge the ball of shame and guilt that had taken up residence in his throat. "Jane, the CIA took you out of our custody, we didn't hand you over."

She nodded. "And there is nothing to stop them from taking me out of your custody again."

He opened his mouth to argue, but she barreled on. "I have no legal name, no identity. I can't get a driver's license or a real job. I have no legal rights. I'm only here as long as Sandstorm wants to kill me. As soon as we get them, I'm out of here, and then there is _nothing_ that is going to protect me from him." She shook her head slightly. "Shepherd just wants me dead. If I'm lucky, she'll get to me before Keaton does." She whirled away from him and savagely ripped a few paper towels from the dispenser, thrusting them under the faucet.

Kurt froze, stunned into immobility. She was right, he knew, but hearing her say it out loud like that… it shook him. She hadn't been innocent, of course, but she hadn't deserved to be tortured by Keaton, either.

He might not have handed her to the CIA, but he hadn't tried to stop them from taking her, either.

Another person hurt on his watch. Another person he'd promised–and failed–to protect.

She wiped the damp towel over her face and threw it in the trashcan.

She pivoted to face him, her rigid self-control firmly in place again. "I'm fine."

"Jane," he said slowly, and then stopped, her words ringing in his ears.

 _Shepherd just wants me dead. If I'm lucky, she'll get to me before Keaton does._

This time, he could keep her safe. He could offer her more protection than he had the last time. He couldn't bring back his dead agents, he couldn't promise her that Shepherd would never get to her. But he did have the power to protect her from Keaton.

She was standing, waiting for him to move out of the way, any and all vulnerabilities hidden away again, under lock and key. "We should get back to the briefing."

"I can keep you safe from Keaton," he told her, "if you marry me."


	2. Chapter 2

_I can keep you safe from Keaton… if you marry me_.

Jane stared at Kurt, sure that she'd finally lost it. It was just a freaky residual fight-or-flight thing. She drew in a deep breath, exhaled to the count of eight. The buzzing in her ears had faded, and the panicked rush of adrenaline had receded, leaving her shaky but at least more in control of her limbs. And her stomach.

She'd imagined it. She must have.

"I'm fine now." She gestured toward the door behind him. "Let's go."

He didn't move. "If you marry me, you'll have an identity. He won't be able to touch you. At least, not without due process of law, which he won't be able to get."

She just stared at him dumbly. He was _serious_?

"Not to mention, it would raise a lot of uncomfortable questions if the wife of the Assistant Director of the FBI went missing."

She found her voice. "Marrying a suspected felon will raise a lot of uncomfortable questions for the Assistant Director of the FBI."

He grinned at her then. "You're an _asset_. Isn't that what every man looks for in a wife?"

"You think this is _funny_?" There was an edge of hysteria to her voice that made her wince and slam her mouth shut.

He sobered immediately. "No, nothing about this is funny, Jane." He took a cautious step toward her. "I shouldn't have let him take you last time, and I'm sorry. And if I can prevent him from getting near you again—and I _can_ —then I will."

"By ruining your own life? What is this, some twisted kind of penance?"

"It's not—"

"Sure." She tilted her head to one side and leveled a look that said _I call bullshit_. "You just woke up this morning and decided to tie yourself a woman you don't trust."

He crossed his arms in front of him. Classic stubborn Weller. "I trust you."

"No, you don't." She mimicked his posture.

"Yes. I. Do. I knew you didn't intentionally give us false information about Sandstorm. I knew you didn't lie about Borden—" he held up his hand "—even before Patterson told us."

She shook her head. "This is ridiculous," she muttered. "I can't even get a driver's license, let alone get married."

Kurt pulled out his phone and checked something on it. "Keaton's gone. Come on, I need to show you something in my office." He strode back over to the restroom door and unlocked it. "After you."

Jane squared her shoulders and stepped into the hallway.

Only Patterson and Reade were left in the bullpen when they passed through it. Patterson gave her a concerned look, but Jane kept her gaze trained on Kurt's back, schooling her features into impassivity.

Inside his office, Kurt crossed over to his desk, pulling out a file from the top drawer. "Here." He extended it toward her.

She flipped the folder open. The paper on top of the file was a South African birth certificate for Alice Kruger, born to Mary and Henry Kruger on April 29th, 1982.

She had no idea how long she stared at it before the letters made sense. "How…?"

"We've been looking for it since Shepherd told you your real name." He nodded at the papers. "There's one for Ian, too."

She flipped the page to the next document. Ian Kruger, also born to Mary and Henry, December 4th, 1984.

The following page was a document issued by the US government, and it took her a minute to figure it out it was some sort of visa issued for Alice Kruger. She looked up at Weller in puzzlement.

"It's an informant visa." He leaned back against his desk as he explained. "We haven't been able to find your adoption paperwork yet. There's… there's a chance that Shepherd brought you here illegally. We still haven't found any record of a 'Remi' or anyone matching your description in any branch of service. Without anything that proves that you're a US citizen…"

"I could get deported." She gave a brief, humorless laugh. Of all the things that kept her awake at night, _being deported_ was the one thing that _wasn't_ on that list. Figures.

"Jane, Patterson is scouring adoption records from that part of the world, looking for US visas issued to kids the same ages as you and your brother. If they're there, we _will_ find them."

"And if you don't?"

"The informant visa is good for three years. We can apply to extend it if the investigation is still ongoing."

Three _years_. The idea that they could still be trying to chase Sandstorm down three years from now was… depressing. But if they weren't, then… "If we catch Shepherd before then you can't get the visa extended."

Kurt exhaled. "Probably not."

She nodded, trying to wrap her brain around the latest calamity in the endless series of disasters she called her life.

"But if you marry a US citizen– which you _can_ do with a visa– you can apply for a permanent visa after three years."

And with that, she remembered why she was standing in his office in the first place.

"Look, I appreciate the offer, but it's crazy. If I get deported in three years, I get deported." Hell, it was probably easier to disappear overseas than it was in the US anyway, and she was going to have to disappear at some point if she wanted to steer clear of the CIA.

"Or you marry me and stay here, in the life you're making for yourself."

 _What life?_ she wanted to ask. It wasn't as though she was going home to some happy family at night. She had an angry brother who didn't remember her and a terrorist adoptive mother who wanted her dead, not to mention coworkers who distrusted her and a sadistic director of the CIA who wanted to interrogate her.

She was already shaking her head as he stood up and stepped towards her. "Please marry me, Jane."

She closed the folder and held it in front of her like a shield. "These are my problems, Kurt, and of my own making. I can't ask you to fix them for me."

"You didn't ask Keaton to torture you for three months, dammit." He leaned toward her. "I can keep you safe from him. _Let me_ keep you safe." His voice broke on the end, and she finally, fully focused on him, on the desperate look in his eyes, and she suddenly understood.

She took a step back. "I'm not Taylor. You don't have to protect me."

Anger like cold blue lightning lit up his eyes. "I know you're not Taylor. Taylor's dead," he bit out. "Just like the nine agents who died in the explosion, and the six more who still might. I can't keep you safe from what we face out there every day, any more than I can keep the rest of the team safe. Reade almost died. Borden could have killed Patterson. I can't control any of that." He inhaled and continued, slightly more slowly but with no less intensity. "But I _can_ keep you safe from Keaton, and I _can_ give you somewhere safe to figure out the rest of your history."

It took her a moment to tear her gaze away from his and organize her thoughts. "The agents who died… that was my fault, not yours," she said softly. "You were acting on the intel that I gave you." _And it was my plan they were following_. She bore the weight of those deaths, not him.

"But it was my call. I'm the Assistant Director, not you."

She opened her mouth to argue, but the look in his eyes stopped her. Nothing that she could say would take that weight off of his shoulders. It was part of who he was. He took responsibility for everyone around him. It's what made him good at his job, why he'd been promoted to Assistant Director in the first place.

It was why she trusted him, and why she'd…

She shut down that train of thought. Whatever there had been between them had died the minute her true identity was revealed, and dwelling on it could bring her nothing but pain.

She switched tacks. "You're the Assistant Director. And I'm a former terrorist from a family of terrorists. Marrying me would be like the Chief of the NYPD marrying the daughter of a mob boss."

"There are a hundred people more capable than me who could do a better job," he growled. "Let them bust me back to field work. I'm better there than I'll ever be behind a desk."

"I don't know why Sandstorm wanted you in this office, but you can do a lot more good here than anywhere else. And I can't be the obstacle that keeps that from happening."

"If they want to bust me down, they'll do it anyway, regardless of whether you marry me or not."

They were standing toe to toe now, neither one of them willing to give an inch. But Jane knew in her heart this was the wrong thing for him, and she couldn't give up.

"What about Nas?"

He drew back, startled.

Clearly, he hadn't known that _she'd_ known. Like she'd missed Nas following him into his bedroom at the party?

"Nas isn't… an issue anymore."

 _Okay_. The fact that he wasn't with Nas any longer made no difference to her, to them, she told herself. There was no _them_.

"What about Allie? I'm sure she wouldn't want me as part of your family, however briefly. I won't put your daughter at risk."

His lips quirked up into a sudden, surprising smile. "Allie likes you," he admitted. "You're exactly the kind of kick-ass female role model she'd want for this kid."

And the thought of being there, being part of his little family, a family built on affection and caring and the shared love of a child… She tried to ignore the pang that went through her heart.

He was whittling away at every defense she had.

"Jane, it's three years at the most. Maybe a lot less." He stepped closer, crowding her. "Say yes."

She knew she should say no. Knew this was the wrong thing for him. For _her_. Knew that it would probably lead to her getting her heart broken again.

"Say yes, Jane."

She tilted her head up, met his blue eyes straight on, and opened her mouth. _Say no. Say no!_

"…Yes."


	3. Chapter 3

Less than thirty minutes after saying, "Yes," Jane found herself standing next to Kurt, filling out a form for a marriage license in an office that turned out to be a convenient two-block walk from the NYO.

It was almost like they were meant to do this.

"There's a waiting period," he'd explained, as he'd hustled her out of the office, past a startled-looking Reade, Zapata, and Patterson, with little more than a "We'll be back."

"Do you want to take my last name?" he asked now, pen poised over the check box.

Jane stared at him. She hadn't really reconciled herself to the idea of getting married, let alone considered details such as whether she wanted to change her name.

"I… Should I? Would you mind?"

He looked at her then, an expression she couldn't read in his eyes. "I'm probably old and traditional," he said slowly, "and it's your name, so… it's your decision. But no, I wouldn't mind if you wanted to take my name."

She nodded. "It's better than Doe, I suppose," she said, forcing a tiny smile.

An answering smile lit his eyes. "That it is." He hesitated and then added, "You can keep it… after. If you want."

 _After_.

 _This is only temporary_ , she reminded herself. "I might. Thank you."

"The license has to say Alice, because that's what on your visa. But you can apply for a legal name change to Jane. Or Remi, if you'd prefer."

She shivered and gave a sharp shake of her head. "Not Remi. I'm Jane."

"Well, you're Jane to me." His attention returned to the form, while she nurtured the tiny warmth that his quiet statement gave her. "I think that's everything."

There was a twenty-four hour waiting period, so they made an appointment for the following afternoon for the official marriage ceremony and headed back to the NYO, marriage certificate in hand.

Most of their floor had gone to lunch by the time they returned, but Patterson, Reade, and Zapata were all still in the bullpen, obviously lying in wait for them.

"My office," said Kurt, tilting his head in that direction, and they all trooped in.

Jane clutched the folder holding all her paperwork—now including a marriage certificate—and steeled herself for the confrontation to follow.

Kurt didn't bother to beat around the bush. "Jane and I just applied for a marriage license."

All three team members looked at him blankly. Reade's eyes widened into huge round circles. Patterson looked similarly shocked, but then her lips curled up slightly at the corners. And Zapata…

Zapata crossed her arms and looked at both Jane and Kurt assessingly. "You just decided this?"

"Yes." Kurt met her gaze squarely.

"This have something to do with Keaton's visit this morning?"

Jane tensed, and when Tasha's gaze flickered her way, she knew the other woman had caught it.

"Yes," Kurt repeated. "He's determined to get Jane back into CIA custody."

Jane looked away as their expressions reflected what horrors _that_ would entail.

"Which is a lot harder if she's married to the Assistant Director of the FBI," said Patterson slowly. "And she can get a marriage license using a birth certificate and an informant visa—"

"Which we have."

Zapata nodded once, her unblinking stare never leaving Kurt. "Does Nas know?"

Kurt didn't flinch. "Not yet."

"You like to live dangerously," she muttered.

Reade stifled a grin.

"As far as anyone _outside this room_ is concerned," Kurt announced, "Jane and I are marrying for romantic reasons _only_."

Three pairs of eyes swiveled toward Jane, and she closed her own eyes to escape. "I told you this was a terrible idea," she muttered at Kurt.

"No," said Patterson thoughtfully. "It's a good idea." A smile lit her face, matching the gleam in her eye. "A _very_ good idea. An informant visa is only good for three years. But after three years of marriage to an American citizen, Jane can apply for permanent citizenship. Even if we never find her adoption papers or military records. But you have to convince INS that you married for reasons besides citizenship."

"So you have to convince the world you married for love," concluded Reade, looking mildly amused at the prospect. He and Zapata exchanged glances, and then he shrugged. "What do you need from us?"

"Just that you tell anyone who asks that you're very happy for us," Kurt said. "Oh, and… we can bring our own witnesses tomorrow. Would any of you like to come?"

"Like we'd miss this?" chirped Patterson.

Zapata rolled her eyes, but said, "I'm in." _Even though I think this is crazy_ , her expression added.

"Me too." Reade looked torn somewhere between amusement and _this is a disaster waiting to happen_.

Only Patterson looked completely delighted at the prospect.

"That okay with you?" Kurt asked Jane.

She pasted a huge fake grin on her face and batted her eyelashes at him. "Yes, dear."

He snorted, but there was a light in his eyes that hadn't been there in days. And for the first time, Jane wondered if maybe he was getting something out of this deal after all.

###

Nas was considerably less thrilled than the team.

"You did _what_?" Her dark gaze bored a hole through Kurt's skull.

"I asked Jane to marry me, and she agreed," he repeated.

"We are in the middle of an investigation." Her voice got more clipped as it grew in volume. "She is a suspected _criminal_."

He stiffened. "She's not a criminal." They'd covered this _ad nauseam_ after the Sandstorm explosion.

"She comes from a family of terrorists. Even though she may have changed her mind now, she admits that she helped plan these operations, of which _you are one of the targets_." Her voice rose as she spoke. "How do you know this isn't part of Shepherd's 'special plan' for you?"

"I don't," he admitted. "But what we do here," he gestured to encompass her office and the building around them, "we do based on our gut instincts. That's what works, that's why we're here. Because our instincts are sound more than not."

"They weren't sound last week," she reminded him. "Reade nearly died. Nine agents—"

"I am aware of the losses. And the cause. And we will find Shepherd and bring her to justice, whether I am married to Jane or not."

"It's career suicide."

He grinned slightly at that. "So far, you've used all the same arguments Jane did."

"If you trust her," Nas fired back, "maybe you should _listen_ to her."

Kurt drew a deep breath. He knew not all of her anger was because of the case, and he was going to have to tackle the next bit with care. "I'm sorry," he said, looking into her eyes, "about what happened between us. I shouldn't have—" He shook his head. "You were right, in the beginning. Jane did love me, and I loved her, and we should have dealt with it sooner. I didn't mean to put you in the middle, and I'm sorry."

The mix of truth and lies rolled off his tongue so easily, he wondered if maybe more of it was true than he'd intended, but he shut down that line of thinking. He and Jane were doing this for three years, max, and then this would all be over and she'd leave and go on with her life.

And he didn't want to think about how depressing that sounded either.

"Kurt." Nas leaned forward and rested her hand on his arm. "I just don't want to see you make a mistake. As your wife, Jane would have access to the secure line in your home, to your finances… She'd be the one making medical decisions for you if something happened. It's a huge risk. I understand if you want to… to get engaged, but just wait until this is over to get married. _Please_."

"I trust Jane," he said. "With the way things are, with what we know about Sandstorm… There may not be time later. We got a second chance, and I'm not going to blow it."

This time, he was going to keep Jane safe by his side, no matter what Sandstorm or the CIA intended.


	4. Chapter 4

Even without any memories of "normal life," Jane was pretty sure that your wedding day was supposed to be more exciting than getting up and going to work. _But then again, it's not like this is a real wedding_.

She ignored the small pang that thought gave her.

The office was rather absurdly normal, in direct contradiction to the chaos swirling inside of her.

She stopped outside of Kurt's office, but he must have been watching for her, because he was halfway across the office before she'd worked up the courage to pull open the door.

"Er, hi," she said awkwardly, stopping a few feet away from him.

He smiled at her, his eyes going all crinkly in the corners. "Hi." His gaze swept over her, and his smile faded as he clearly picked up on the inner turmoil that she was sure she'd concealed. "You okay? Still up for this?"

She drew a deep breath. She'd half-convinced herself that she'd just dreamed up yesterday. But apparently she actually had agreed to marry him. "Um, yes. What did—" She swallowed. "What did Pellington say?"

He shrugged. "I didn't get fired. He questioned my judgment. If there's any hint that I'm not acting impartially in this case, I'm off it, and someone else will take over."

"Oh." Somehow she'd been sure that Pellington would put a stop to the whole thing. "What about… Nas?"

He grimaced. "She's pretty pissed off at me. I'm destroying my career, compromising the investigation, and letting you take advantage of me."

"What?"

"The last one was kind of implied."

Jane wanted to feel outraged, but she knew that Nas would be far from alone in that opinion when their marriage became common knowledge. Everyone would probably assume that she'd somehow tricked him into it. Or seduced him into it.

That thought wasn't as unappealing as it really should have been.

"Did you tell Roman?" he asked quietly.

She nodded. "I went to his safe house after I left here last night." She sighed. Her relationship with her brother was… strained. He was angry with her for the memory wipe, and even though she had to believe it was for the best, she remembered her own fear and confusion too well to hold it against him. He had more break-through memories than she had, and between those confusing images and the fact that she couldn't fill many of them in… sometimes she felt that they'd never be able to bridge the chasm between them. "I didn't tell him why. Just that we were getting married today at the courthouse."

He nodded. "Do you want him to be there? I could have his detail–"

She was already shaking her head before he was finished. "No, it's okay. I don't really want to explain to him." _And it isn't like this is a real wedding_ , she told herself again. She straightened her spine. She needed to keep that in mind. It would be far too easy to let herself forget.

"All right. It's up to you."

"Did you tell Sarah?"

He looked away from her then. "Not yet. I thought it might be easier… after the fact."

"When it's too late for her to try and stop you?" she asked before she thought about it.

He laughed. "Something like that."

"Will you tell her the truth?"

He hesitated. "The fewer people who know, the better. Immigration would definitely talk to my sister if there's a question."

So now she was responsible for him lying to his sister. She winced. "Kurt—"

"It's fine. Sarah's been bugging me to get married for years. You're saving me from a lot of nagging. I'm in your debt actually."

He smiled, but Jane shifted her weight uncomfortably. Everyone expected lying from her, but Kurt… Everyone trusted him to be on the level. Nas was right, Jane was dragging him down. It wasn't just his career she was damaging but his personal integrity too.

"Jane." He interrupted her thoughts, clearly able to read the expression on her face. "It's really fine. I'll call Sarah tonight. She'll want to talk to you, though. You've been warned."

She frowned at him. But her mind was already tripping ahead, finding other pitfalls to stumble into. "Is it a problem if I'm still on the team? If we're…" She gestured awkwardly between them.

Kurt rubbed the back of his neck. "Actually… you've been reassigned, sort of." At her panicked expression, he held up his hand. "You're a 'language asset' now, reporting to Patterson. And she will 'loan' you back to the team when you're needed in the field."

"Oh." She digested that for a minute. "That… makes sense actually." Jane was the first one Patterson reached out to these days when she needed translation help.

He stepped closer. "I'm not going to try to take you off the team or out of the field. You have a right to be there, Jane. I know what this means to you, and I know that you're on our side."

She swallowed the lump in her throat, unable to look away from the sincerity in his blue eyes. "Thank you, Kurt. For…" She gave a tiny, helpless shrug. _For believing in me. For letting me ruin your life_. "For everything."

"Jane. It's gonna be all right. Trust me?"

"I do trust you. It's just–"

"It's going to be fine."

She should argue, she knew she should. But just like yesterday, he turned his piercing blue gaze on her and her will to argue evaporated. Instead of objecting, she found herself nodding instead.

He grinned. "Thatta girl." He looked through the glass window of the office. "I think Patterson needs her translator."

Jane turned to see Patterson waiting patiently outside, accompanied by Zapata. She drew in a deep breath. No doubt Zapata was there to try to talk them out of this.

"Kurt?"

"Go on. I've got some work I need to get done this morning. I'll see you this afternoon."

"Right." She nodded. "This afternoon," she murmured faintly.

Zapata and Patterson pounced as soon as the door to the office closed behind her.

"Is that what you're planning to wear today?" demanded Zapata, eyeing Jane's black cargo pants and white shirt.

"Um. Yes?"

Wrong answer, apparently. Zapata shot a glance at Patterson that clearly said, _I told you so_. "You didn't bring a dress?"

Jane had thought about it that morning, but then decided she was just being frivolous. What did it matter what she got married in? Kurt was wearing a suit, but he wore a suit every day. She, on the other hand….

"I don't own a dress."

Zapata sighed, and she and Patterson regarded each other in complete agreement about something.

Jane tried to control her urge to flee.

Patterson smiled at her with a look in her eye that said, _I am cute and fluffy and will wear you down more surely than any glacier_.

Zapata wrenched open the door to Kurt's office and stuck her head in. "We're borrowing Jane. We'll be back in an hour or two."

The two women escorted Jane to the elevator. "Where are we going?" she asked warily, when the doors slid closed.

"Jane, no one is going to take this seriously if it doesn't look like _you_ take it seriously," Zapata informed her.

"I do! I mean, I am. Taking this seriously." Of course she was. It was her life that was being turned upside down, after all, not theirs.

"We know you are," said Patterson soothingly. "But it has to look that way. So we're going shopping. You need something to get married in."

"Something not _that_." Zapata shot a pointed look at Jane's cargo pants and shook her head.

"Right." Jane gave a sharp nod. _Shopping_.

She'd rather face a firing squad. Looking at Zapata's determined expression, she was pretty sure she'd have had better odds against the firing squad.


	5. Chapter 5

There was no question that Zapata and Patterson were on a mission. They dragged Jane through the dress section at Macy's with single-minded purpose, taking turns pulling things off the rack, holding them up, and either shaking their heads or handing them to Jane. She tried to offer her opinion on a few of them, but gave up when both of them nodded politely and then ignored her. Clearly neither of them had any confidence in her ability to dress herself.

When she was weighted down with at least a dozen and a half possibilities, they steered her into the dressing room.

"Strip," ordered Zapata, taking the armful of dresses from her. "At least you have a real bra on today," she muttered when Jane obediently pulled off her shirt.

She supposed she should feel shy, but given that both women had spent months staring at pictures of her naked body, it was probably too late for that.

She held up her arms for Zapata to pull the first dress over her head. Patterson helped yank it down into place, and then both women stepped back to look at her, leaving Jane with a clear view to the mirror.

She blanched. The black dress was tight and clingy and _short_. All she could see were tattooed arms and far too much of her legs. She made a tiny sound of distress.

Zapata was nodding, but Patterson was looking at Jane's face. "No?" she asked softly.

Jane shook her head.

"It does fit you well," argued Zapata, but then caught the look Patterson shot her. "Okay, next?"

And they continued in that fashion. Patterson liked a burgundy dress, but Zapata wasn't sold. Zapata liked a sleeveless navy sheath, but Patterson took one at Jane's panicked expression and shook her head.

When they got to the last dress, in a swirly gold pattern that Jane didn't care for but which did at least have a long skirt to cover her legs, Patterson said, "I'll be right back," and darted out of the dressing room.

Zapata tilted her head to the side. "Too busy," she pronounced. "Although the color's good on you." She looked back at the pile of discards that Patterson had studiously rehung. She picked up the first one Jane had vetoed. "Are you sure…?"

"No." Jane shook her head vehemently.

"Right." Zapata squared her shoulders. "Okay, then."

Patterson slipped back in the door. "Try this one." She held up a soft-looking knit dress in a deep, rich green.

Zapata helped Jane out of the gold dress, and then Patterson pulled the green dress over her head.

It fit like a glove. It had a slightly scooped neckline, showed off her tiny waist, and flared out over her hips. It had long sleeves and fell well below her knee. It was sexy but not at all revealing, and Jane loved it.

"Here." Patterson stepped up and wrapped a soft scarf around Jane's neck in shades of green and gold, with flashes of royal blue.

Zapata tilted her head to one side and nodded. "That works. Hang on." And then she darted out of the room.

"Your tattoos are pretty, Jane," Patterson said softly when they were alone. "I mean, it's also freezing out, so I get not wanting to wear something skimpy." She gave a quick laugh. "But you don't have to cover them up."

"I know, it's just…" Jane sighed. It was hard enough that everyone was so vocal that marrying her was a disaster for Weller. Somehow the tattoos made it more obvious that it was.

"It's okay." Patterson patted her arm. "You look beautiful either way."

Jane grimaced but nodded.

"Here." Zapata pushed back into the dressing room, brandishing a pair of dressy knee-high boots in a rich chocolate brown.

Patterson's face lit up. "Perfect!" She knelt down to help Jane put them on.

Jane grabbed Patterson's shoulder, feeling like an oversized Barbie doll as both women helped pull the boots on and zip them up.

They rose as one and stepped back to look at her.

"Perfect," proclaimed Patterson.

"It works." Zapata nodded with satisfaction. She looked at her watch. "And just in time. We gotta get back."

They hurried Jane back into her normal clothes and rushed her past the register. Jane winced at the total as she signed her name and accepted her parcels. An FBI-asset living allowance clearly wasn't meant to cover high fashion.

When they got back to the NYO, Patterson hustled her into the locker room while Zapata flagged down Reade. "Do _not_ let Weller in here," she ordered.

Reade held up his hands. "He's not here. He went out a little while ago."

If Zapata was trying to dress him, too, Jane wouldn't blame him one bit for running away.

Patterson took the dress out of the plastic bag and clipped off the price tags. Both women made short work of getting Jane into the dress and boots.

"Okay, sit." Zapata pushed Jane over to the mirror and down into a chair.

She and Patterson had a whispered consultation and then Zapata dug around and found a curling iron.

Jane eyed both woman and iron with great trepidation and contemplated making a break for it.

"Heads up." Patterson tilted Jane's chin up and started brushing makeup on her cheeks.

Jane closed her eyes and gave up. She'd hardly slept the night before, and she wondered if anyone would notice if she went to sleep while they did whatever it was they were determined to do to her.

Maybe Weller wouldn't come back, and she could just go home before someone saw her.

"Open your eyes, Jane, you need some mascara," said Patterson.

Jane was sure _need_ was definitely up for debate, but she opened her eyes obediently.

"What do you think?" Zapata asked from behind Jane, fluffing her hair. Jane had her back to the mirror, so she couldn't see what it looked like, but Patterson's expression of delight told her it was probably nothing like her normal style.

And then Patterson's smile faded. "The scarf has some blue. And the dress is new." She turned a worried expression toward Zapata. "She needs something old and something borrowed."

Jane looked up at Zapata and was pleased to see that she looked as nonplussed as Jane felt.

Patterson frowned, deep in thought. "Borrowed…." she muttered, looking around the locker room for inspiration.

Zapata went back to playing with Jane's hair. "I wish I had a clip or something," she muttered.

"That's it!" Patterson exclaimed, making both Jane and Zapata jump. She leaned over the counter and pulled a small antique gold hair clip out of her hair. "Here," she thrust it at Zapata. "It was my grandmother's, so it's old, and I'm letting Jane use it, so it's borrowed. And…" She rooted around in her purse. "And a penny for your shoe." She held up a penny and then leaned down and dropped it into the top of Jane's boot.

Over Patterson's head, Zapata gave Jane a tiny shrug, and Jane wondered who was driving this bus.

Reade stuck his head in the door. "Weller's back. He's pacing around out here. How long I do I have to stall him?"

"She's ready," called Zapata, pulling Jane up out of the chair.

She was? Jane was pretty sure she was anything other than _ready_.

Patterson draped the scarf around her neck and then took Jane by the shoulders and turned her to face the mirror. "What do you think?"

Jane blinked.

The woman in the mirror was… _pretty_. Instead of her usual frizzy locks, her hair fell in soft curls around her face. The light makeup Patterson had applied gave her cheeks a becoming flush and made her eyes stand out. The color of the dress brought out the green in her eyes.

"Wow," she whispered.

"You like it?" asked Zapata, looking hesitant for the first time that day.

Jane nodded vigorously. "Thank you," she whispered. And before the other woman could move away, Jane whirled around and gave her a swift hug.

Zapata stiffened for a moment and then relaxed and gave Jane a quick pat on the back.

As soon as Zapata stepped back, Patterson dove in and squeezed Jane in a tight embrace. "You're so beautiful. Weller isn't going to know what hit him."

And just like that, the butterflies moved back into Jane's stomach.

"C'mon." Zapata gave her a small push toward the locker room door. "Let's go get you married."


	6. Chapter 6

Jane stepped out of the locker room, more self-conscious than she could ever remember feeling in her entire life—including standing naked in Times Square.

Weller was waiting in the hall with Reade. When he caught sight of Jane, he froze.

She gave him a tentative smile, but he didn't say anything, just stared at her as if he'd never seen her before.

Her momentary confidence evaporated, and she looked down. _Pretend it's just another undercover op_ , she told herself. But it was one thing to feel ridiculous dressing up as someone else. It was so much worse to feel ridiculous dressing up as _yourself_.

"We should probably go," she said, without meeting his eyes.

He didn't move. "Jane," he said, his voice oddly hoarse.

A moment passed, and she glanced hesitantly up at him.

"You look…" he shook his head faintly, "… _beautiful_." The last word was firm and deliberate, not inviting—or allowing—her to argue.

She drew a deep breath, confidence slightly restored. "Thank you."

She managed a shy smile, which he returned, and then they both stood there in the hallway, looking at each other.

"Don't you two have an appointment?" Zapata demanded.

"Right. Ah, we should probably go." Kurt nodded toward the elevator doors.

"Oh, I need a coat." Jane turned and almost bumped into Zapata, who was holding her leather jacket.

Zapata looked at Jane's dress and shook her head. "Here," she said, handing over her own long wool coat and pulling on Jane's leather jacket instead.

Weller held the coat for her, a small smile lurking at the edges of his mouth. "She made Reade fix my tie," he whispered, his mouth by Jane's ear as he wrapped the coat around her. " _Twice_."

His breath tickled, and she gave a tiny shiver, which she masked with a chuckle. "I am not allowed to have an opinion about my appearance," she admitted in a low voice. "I'm not qualified, apparently."

He shrugged. "Well, qualified or not, my opinion is that you look great," he murmured in her ear.

And the simple, matter-of-fact way he said it was enough to make her believe it was true.

"Today?" Zapata gestured toward the open elevator door.

"Right." Weller offered Jane his arm. "Shall we?"

She nodded, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow.

They were a solemn procession on their way to the Marriage Bureau. Partially because the cold and windy weather wasn't conducive to conversation, but mostly because Jane couldn't have managed coherent speech if her life depended on it.

Somehow Weller seemed to pick up on that—or probably he was wrestling with his own misgivings too—because he just kept tight hold of her hand on his arm, which kept her firmly tucked by his side on the walk.

She wondered if he was afraid she'd make a break for it. Although if he was smart, he'd encourage her to.

They arrived at the Marriage Bureau much faster than she wanted and were ushered into a room with rows of chairs and a podium at the front.

Kurt helped her take off her—Zapata's—coat, and then pulled the envelope with the marriage license from the pocket of his jacket.

A door at the front of the room opened and a man in a suit with a thick mustache entered. Kurt squeezed Jane's arm, and went off to talk to the officiant in murmurs that Jane couldn't quite make out.

She drew a deep, shaky breath.

"Are you okay?" asked Patterson, grabbing Jane's hand.

Jane forced a smile to her lips and nodded. "I'm fine."

Zapata looked over at her with an expression of concern, probably afraid that Jane was going to throw up and ruin the outfit they'd so painstakingly selected.

Kurt returned to her side. "Ready?" He held out his hand.

Jane managed a jerky nod. Patterson gave her hand a final squeeze and let go so that she could place her hand in Kurt's.

"I explained to him that you go by Jane, instead of Alice, so he's going to use that in the ceremony," he murmured in her ear as they walked to the front of the room, the team trailing behind them.

 _Jane… soon-to-be Weller_. It sounded better than she knew it should.

"Thank you." She smiled up at him, and his hand tightened around hers.

They took their places at the front of the room, facing each other. The team lined up behind them, shoulder to shoulder, a little show of solidarity that made Jane swallow a sudden lump in her throat. Even if they all thought this was a mistake, they were still _here,_ still ready to back her and Kurt up just as they did every day in the field. Ready to lie to INS on her behalf. She knew it wasn't solely for her benefit, that it was because Kurt had asked them to, but the fact that they were willing to show up here today, after believing she had betrayed them? That meant something to her.

"Are we ready?" asked the officiant.

Jane realized that Kurt was holding his other hand out, so she placed her free hand into his. Her hands were freezing, a combination of nerves and the cold weather outside, and she wouldn't have blamed him if he'd let go. But instead, he rubbed his thumbs gently over her fingers, trying to warm them.

She looked up then to meet his solemn gaze. He dipped his chin slightly, a question in his eyes, and she nodded. She was as ready as she was going to be.

He smiled then, and she felt warmer.

Kurt nodded to the officiant, who began, "We are gathered together here in the presence of these witnesses to join this man and this woman in matrimony…"

Jane tried to listen, to focus on the words, but her whole world had shrunk down to just Kurt's eyes on hers and her hands in his, and the words flowed around them as though they were two rocks anchored together in the middle of a stream.

"Kurt, will you take Jane to be your wedded wife, to live together in the estate of matrimony? Will you love, honor and keep her; in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, keep yourself only unto her, as long as you both shall live?"

There was no hesitation in his answer. "I will."

"Jane, will you take Kurt to be your wedded husband, to live together in the estate of matrimony? Will you love, honor and keep him; in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, keep yourself only unto him, as long as you both shall live?"

She drew a deep breath, and Kurt squeezed her fingers gently in reassurance. "I will."

Somehow she made it through the repeating of vows, though she had little recollection of what she said. She only remembered the sincerity shining in Kurt's eyes as he made his vows to her.

 _It's not real_ , she reminded herself. _Not. Real._

And she couldn't let herself wish that it was.

"Do you have the rings?" asked the officiant.

Jane looked to Kurt, startled, and waited for him to explain that they didn't. But he let go of her hand and reached into his pocket. He placed two plain gold bands into the officiant's outstretched palm, who held out the larger of the two for Jane to take.

She hesitated for a second. They hadn't discussed rings, and she'd assumed that he wouldn't want one. But he'd gone out and bought rings?

He answered her unspoken question with a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.

She reached for the ring.

"Kurt, I give you this ring as a symbol of my vow, and with all that I am, and all that I have, I honor you." Her voice was steady and clear, and the ring slid easily into place on his finger.

And then Kurt repeated the words and slid the matching slim gold band onto her finger, giving her hand a small squeeze when he was done.

"I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Jane froze. Somehow she'd forgotten that a marriage ceremony was typically concluded with a kiss.

Kurt regarded her with a playful look in his eye. "I guess this means we can do this," he murmured, too quietly for anyone else to hear.

She blinked, startled by the reminder of the kiss they'd shared in the locker room. She wasn't sure if it was surprise or stress, or maybe it was the twinkle in Kurt's eye, but a tiny giggle bubbled up inside of her and escaped.

She was still smiling as they leaned in and pressed their lips together.

His lips were soft and warm and felt… familiar. Like coming home. And the tiny peck she'd meant to give him turned into a soft, gentle kiss that awoke feelings she'd spent months trying to ignore.

 _Not real. Notrealnotrealnotreal._

But it was hard to convince herself of that with the warmth of his lips still on hers.

A light flashed and they drew apart with a start, turning to see all three team members taking pictures.

"Ladies and gentleman," announced the officiant in ringing tones, "may I present Mr. & Mrs. Weller."


	7. Chapter 7

Jane was quiet on the walk back from the Marriage Bureau. The team was a few yards ahead of them, but none of them looked back. Giving the new married couple some privacy, Kurt assumed, to reflect upon their folly.

Jane's head was bowed as she walked beside him, her hand tucked once again in his arm, and he wished he could see her face.

She'd looked so uncertain during the ceremony, reminding him of the way she'd looked when she'd first arrived at the FBI. He didn't like it. He liked her better confident, arguing with him.

Smiling at him, the way she'd been smiling when he'd kissed her. Both today and the last time he'd kissed her, months ago. He liked the way her lips felt against his, curved up at the edges.

He wanted her to keep looking at him that way, even though it had no place in the type of marriage he had offered her.

She was still looking down, and he desperately wanted to know what she was thinking. Was she already regretting this decision? And then he realized she was wiggling the fingers of her left hand, nestled in the crook of his arm. Looking at the ring he'd placed on her finger barely twenty minutes earlier.

It filled him with an odd sense of satisfaction to see it there. He'd been worried that he wouldn't get the size right, but it had fit perfectly when he'd slipped it on her finger.

He bent his head so his mouth was close to her ear and forced himself to say, quietly, so he wouldn't be overheard by the rest of the team. "You don't have to wear it. If you don't want to."

Her chin jerked up, and her startled green gaze met his. "No! It's fine. I was just… surprised."

"I know we didn't talk about rings, but I thought it would make it seem… more real."

She nodded. "I guess it is… real." she said, with a funny catch in her voice.

They were married. For real. For better or for worse.

She wiggled her finger again, and the gold band glinted in the afternoon sunlight. "Thank you," she whispered, and he wasn't sure if she was referring to the ring or to the whole marriage.

He reached across to cover her fingers with his larger hand, its gold band a perfect match to hers. "We're in this together, right?"

"Together." And the smile that graced her face reached all the way up to her emerald eyes.

In the elevator on the way to their floor, Tasha pulled out her phone to check her messages. "Agent Rose is looking for you, boss."

Kurt stifled a sigh. He wasn't sad to forgo an elaborate wedding reception, but a few minutes' reprieve would have been nice.

Tasha was still looking at her phone, now flipping through the photos from the ceremony. "You take horrible pictures," she complained to Reade, turning the phone so he could see. "Every one of these is crooked."

He shrugged. "Take your own pictures next time."

They got out of the elevator and turned toward the locker room to drop their coats, but Zapata pointed them toward the door of the break room instead. "Agent Rose said they needed you in here, boss."

Kurt shot her a suspicious look, but she just shrugged and stepped aside for them to enter.

"Congratulations!" Agent Rose and the rest of the agents from their floor were crammed into the back of the room, and they broke into raucous applause—and a few wolf whistles—when he and Jane stepped through the door.

He felt Jane tense beside him and instinctively curved his arm around her, drawing her against his side.

In the center of the room was a table with a large sheet cake, decorated with giant yellow icing roses and "Congratulations Mr. & Mrs. Weller" spelled out in green script.

He shot the team an accusing look.

Patterson opened her eyes innocently, but Tasha laughed. "Huh, looks like word got out somehow." She aimed her phone at them and took another picture. "Hard to keep secrets from the FBI. You should cut your cake."

Jane looked startled and slightly dismayed by the attention. Under the guise of helping her remove her coat, he whispered in her ear, "We're not the kind of couple who mashes cake in each other's faces, are we?"

The look she turned on him was torn between amusement and horror. "I hope not," she whispered back.

"Deal." He turned back to the crowd and put up his hand. The catcalls subsided at once. He put his arm back around Jane, trying not to notice how natural the gesture felt, nor the way she leaned in toward him in response. "I see our secret got out somehow," he said to the crowd, shooting a mock glare at Tasha, who held up her hands to protest her innocence. "But yes, Jane and I were married this afternoon. We thank you all for your good wishes."

"How'd you talk her into it?" yelled a voice from the back of the crowd.

"He threatened to make her work more weekends if she said no," someone else called back.

Beside him, Jane gave a quiet snort. "We get weekends off?" she asked him with mock surprise. " _Now_ you tell me."

The crowd around them roared, and Kurt was struck by quiet pride at the way she'd rallied. He knew she was uncomfortable—about the party, about their marriage—but she looked poised and confident.

She was amazing, and she was _his wife_.

And he definitely shouldn't be as happy about that as he was.

###

Jane would have rather been anywhere than a party in her honor. Well, Kurt's honor really. She knew that if he'd married someone—anyone—else, she probably wouldn't have even been invited. But as it was… she would have rather faced a room full of armed terrorists than this room full of well-wishing FBI agents. Most of them seemed sincere in their congratulations, but she overheard a few snide comments. And everyone in the room— _everyone_ —was staring at the two of them, no doubt trying to figure out what clues they'd missed.

The only part that made it bearable was that Kurt never moved more than a few steps away from her.

When Agent Rose had held up the cake server, he'd guided her to the table, his hand on her back. He put one hand over hers as they sliced the cake, the other hand resting on her waist. They fed each other a few bites of cake—very neatly, to Tasha's obvious annoyance—and then turned over the cake cutting duties so they could mingle with their guests.

And through it all, Kurt kept his arm around her or stood close enough that his sleeve brushed against her arm.

There was sort of a surreal quality to having someone beside her, not just physically, but figuratively as well. She'd been on her own for so long, she didn't quite know how to deal with having someone else in her corner.

 _Don't get used to it_ , reminded a little voice inside of her.

"Congratulations, you two," said a familiar voice, and she looked up to find Nas standing in front of them, accepting a slice of cake from Agent Rose.

Jane froze.

"Thank you," said Kurt quietly.

This time, he didn't put his arm around Jane, although she was standing directly beside him, so close the skirt of her dress brushed against his pant leg.

She tried not to read anything into it.

"I hope you'll both be very happy." There was something cold about the look in her dark eyes as Nas glanced at Jane, something that turned decidedly warmer when she turned to Kurt. Something _possessive_.

Jane found herself trying desperately to remember exactly what he'd said about Nas. "Nas isn't an issue," he'd said, right? Wasn't an issue because they weren't together any longer, she'd thought he meant. But what if it had been not an issue meaning Nas wouldn't object? Because she was willing to wait for this farce to end? Or was it because… they were just going to be discreet.

She was uncomfortably aware that they hadn't discussed fidelity, despite having pledged to "forsake all others."

But three years was a long time, and theirs was little more than a business arrangement. She couldn't ask him to put his whole life on hold just because she'd become a small, temporary part of his.

She wasn't _really_ his wife, and it would be a mistake for her to forget that.


	8. Chapter 8

The party broke up shortly after the cake ran out, and the team headed back toward the locker room.

Kurt glanced at his watch. "I think the rest of today is a lost cause," he said quietly to Jane. "How about we go to your place so you can pack up your stuff, then pick up takeout on the way home?"

Jane hugged Tasha's coat tight against her chest and tried valiantly not to look as unnerved as she felt. _Of course_ they would have to live together in order to convince INS that they were truly married. She'd considered it, quite logically, when he'd made his proposal. But something about the matter-of-fact way he'd said it had caught her off guard.

Picking up on her distress, Kurt stopped her in the hallway before they followed the others into the locker room. "I cleaned out Sarah's room last night," he said quietly, watching her face. "There's still furniture in there, but you can change anything that you don't like. I want you to be comfortable."

It was a not-so-subtle way of reminding her that the marriage was a business arrangement, that he wasn't expecting her to be in his wife in anything but name only. There was probably something ironic about the fact that he'd married the one woman in the entire NYO that he was determined _not_ to sleep with, but Jane couldn't bring herself to find the humor in it.

"I'm sure it's fine," she rushed to assure him. A room was a room, whether it was in an FBI safe house or in Kurt's apartment. Neither her life expectancy nor the life expectancy of their marriage was long enough to justify redecorating on her account. "I don't have much. It won't take me long to pack." Minutes really. And that was if she stopped to throw out the leftover takeout food in the fridge.

"Okay then. Meet me in my office when you're ready to go?"

She nodded and pushed open the door to the locker room.

Zapata and Patterson were still inside. She traded coats with Zapata and returned Patterson's hair clip, murmuring her thanks to both of them. Then she went to her locker and changed back into her ordinary clothes. She hung the green dress carefully on the hanger and then pulled the department store plastic cover over it. She had no idea when or where she'd ever wear it again, but it was too pretty to fold up and stuff in her bag. She picked up the boots to tuck them back into the box, and the penny fell out and rolled in a slow circle on the locker room floor. She bent down and grabbed it up before it could roll away and get lost.

And then she straightened up and looked at the coin in her hand. It wasn't new or shiny. It was worn smooth in some areas, dented in others. But despite its age and the abuse it had taken, it was still a penny. Kind of like her, really. She was tired and tattooed, her memories gone and her name changed, but she was still here, still going, still trying to make sense out of it all.

She turned the coin over in her hand, absently noting the contrast between the dull, tarnished copper and the shiny new gold of her wedding band, and was suddenly reminded of Roman fidgeting with the 1-Rand coin their parents had given them. She carefully tucked the coin into the cargo pocket of her pants, gathered up the rest of her things, and went upstairs to her _husband's_ office.

Kurt was on the phone when she arrived, but he waved her in anyway. "Fine, send me the paperwork you have, and we'll sort it out on this end."

She hovered awkwardly just inside the door, trying not to eavesdrop on his conversation. She felt around in her jacket pocket for the cell phone she hadn't seen in a few hours, relaxing when she found it tucked safe in the inside pocket. She pulled it out and tapped the button. And then she stared dumbly at the lock screen.

Instead of the default image that she'd never changed, the lock screen image was now a close-up picture of her and Kurt… kissing at the end of the marriage ceremony. She blinked and quickly entered her passcode to unlock the screen.

And discovered that the phone's background image was now a picture of her and Kurt feeding each other cake.

She opened up the photo viewer and discovered that there were at least sixty new pictures, from the entire wedding service to the kiss, the party, and the cake. She stared dumbly at the thumbnails for a minute, and then realized that Zapata must have found the phone in the pocket of her coat, and Patterson likely made short work of unlocking it for her.

She went back to the start of the photos and swiped through them, one at a time. The wedding ones looked very serious, up until the kiss. She and Kurt both looked a little stunned in the ones after that. She paused at a picture of them at the party. He'd said something amusing to her—she couldn't remember what now—and she was laughing up at him, while he smiled down at her, his arm wrapped casually around her shoulders.

"That's a good one," said Kurt, peering over her shoulder.

Jane jumped a little. "Tasha used my phone," she said quickly. "I didn't realize—she took a ton of pictures."

He didn't seem bothered, putting his hand on her shoulder and leaning a little closer so he could see the screen better. He nodded to her to keep going.

She scrolled slowly through the remaining photos, pausing sometimes when he chuckled, swiping quickly when he grimaced at one in which both of them had been caught mid-speech, with open mouths and strangely contorted facial expressions. But she was paying far more attention to the way his thumb was absently stroking her shoulder than she was to the images on the screen.

"Can you send some of them to me?" he asked when they were done.

She blinked at him. He wanted pictures of their wedding? "Ah, sure."

"I know Sarah will want to see them. I'm sorry, it never occurred to me to ask anyone to take any."

She stared at him for a minute. He was apologizing for not arranging for a photographer for the wedding he had arranged solely as a favor to her? "It's fine. I'll… send these to you."

"Great. You ready to go?"

She nodded, and he reached down to pick up the shopping bag with her boots in it.

"I can get it," she said quickly, feeling awkward at accepting help. Probably because being _offered_ help was so foreign to her.

"I've got it." He opened the door and held it for her. "Get your dress."

She hurriedly tucked her phone back into her pocket and picked up the dress she'd draped over the back of a chair.

The drive to her safe house was quiet, both of them lost in their thoughts. She assumed the reality of what they'd done was catching up with him too.

As she'd told him, it took her only a few minutes to scoop up her meager wardrobe and toiletries and load them into the empty duffel bag. While Kurt was occupied with emptying the contents of her fridge, she crouched down beside the dresser and reached underneath it to retrieve the envelope filled with cash that she'd taped to the underside. She'd learned to be prepared in case she had to make a quick exit. She stuffed the envelope under the pile of clothes just as Kurt stuck his head in the door to her room. "How's it going?"

"Got it all," she assured him, zipping the bag shut.

"Wasn't much in the fridge," he said, frowning at her. "I grabbed the yogurt and the milk."

"Thanks." She followed him back into the kitchen. From the nearly-empty pantry, she grabbed a box of cereal and another of granola bars, and put them in the grocery bag with the yogurt and milk.

In the small dining area, she picked up the sketchbook and the two pencils from the mug on the table, shoving them in the top of the duffel bag. "I think that's it."

He looked down at the bag containing her worldly possessions, smaller than the one she'd been delivered in to Times Square, an expression that she couldn't read flickering across his face. "That's all?"

"That's everything."

He nodded, a muscle tensing in his jaw, and picked up the grocery bag. "Let's go."

She gave a last look back as she left the safe house. It hadn't been a home, not really, but it was familiar. And now she was giving up everything that _was_ familiar to take this leap into the unknown.

 _It's just a new place to sleep_ , she told herself. _Just for a little while_. But the gold band on her finger as she locked the door reminded her that it wasn't really true.

And she looked up at the man holding the door to the SUV for her and told herself that she didn't in any way wish that it _was_ real. Not at all.


	9. Chapter 9

They ended up getting Chinese food from a restaurant midway between her safe house and his apartment. And between the two of them, they were able to carry all of her belongings and the food up to his apartment in a single trip.

"Sarah's room is through there," Kurt told her, nodding at the hallway as he set the bag with their food on the table. "I put clean sheets on the bed and some towels in the bathroom for you. That's the next door down."

She carried her bags through the doorway he'd indicated and fumbled for a minute for the light switch. The room was painted a soft sage green that looked almost silvery in the lamp light. There was a double bed, a dresser, a small nightstand, and a low bookshelf on the far side of the bed, all sturdy-looking oak. She set her bags on the bed and wandered over to look at the assortment of mismatched books on the shelf.

"Those were Sarah's," Kurt said from the doorway. "Feel free to read any that look interesting—she has pretty eclectic tastes. We can get rid of anything that's in your way."

Jane traced her fingers along the top shelf. Mysteries, science fiction, and legal thrillers rubbed shoulders with Jane Austen and J. R. R. Tolkein. She'd discovered that she liked reading, but still hadn't found a particular genre that she liked better than others. Maybe that was okay, though, judging by Sarah's collection. "No, I like to read. This is… nice."

"Okay. Well, I'll go set the table. Come out whenever you're ready."

She removed the plastic and carefully hung the green dress in the empty closet, setting the box with the boots on the shelf above. She put her clothes in the top two drawers of the dresser, not even halfway filling either one. She tucked the envelope with the cash under her clothes for the moment; she'd find somewhere better later.

And then she went out to join her husband for dinner.

She'd requested pork lo mein when he'd asked what she wanted. But when she got to the table, she discovered he'd added dumplings and eggrolls and hot and sour soup to the order, in addition to his kung pao chicken. She blinked at the array of food.

"I didn't get lunch, and I'm pretty sure you didn't either. So all we had to eat was cake today." He shook his head. "Eat up."

It was the first time they'd eaten alone together since her return to the FBI, and she expected that it would be awkward, but it felt strangely comfortable, almost as though they really were an old married couple. They both eschewed forks in favor of the chopsticks the restaurant had provided. They passed containers back and forth and debated the merits of this restaurant versus the one closer to their office where the team sometimes got lunch. And both of them avoided discussing anything serious, like their marriage or new living arrangements.

Maybe they would be able to do this for the next three years.

Jane had been sure they wouldn't be able to eat everything, and she was right, but they ate a lot more than she'd thought.

"Heads up."

Jane held up her hands just in time to catch the plastic-wrapped fortune cookie that Kurt tossed to her. "I'm full," she said, reaching out to hand it back to him.

He shook his head. "Gotta read your fortune. House rules."

She raised an eyebrow at that, but he shook his head unrepentantly. "Sawyer will know if you cheat."

"Sawyer, huh?" But she relented and unwrapped her cookie. "'The greatest risk is not taking one.'" _The greatest risk is getting married for all the wrong reasons_ , said a voice in her head, but she ignored it. "What's yours?"

"'Change can hurt, but it leads a path to something better.'" He flashed her a grin. "See? I told you this was a good idea."

She rolled her eyes but didn't argue. In her life, or at least in the life she could remember, change had _always_ meant hurt. But it would be nice to think that there was something better.

She ignored the tiny voice inside that suggested: _Maybe this_ is _the something better._

 _###_

After they'd finished dinner and put away the leftovers, they said goodnight. Jane went off to take a leisurely shower and then puttered around in her room. But there was nothing more for her to put away or organize. She tried to sketch or pick out a book to read but found herself unable to stay focused on either one.

It wasn't just the new surroundings or her change in circumstances. She'd gotten used to watching tv until the wee hours, falling asleep with it on in the background. She'd learned that falling asleep too early meant waking up with nightmares in the pre-dawn darkness, being unable to fall back to sleep and feeling groggy all day. Much better to stay up late and fall asleep with the tv on. Sometimes it was even enough to keep the nightmares away, chased off by the canned laughter from sitcom reruns.

The last thing in the world she wanted was to wake Weller up by crying out in her sleep.

So she paced around in her room, feeling agitated and out of sorts. Her last circuit ended by the door, and she paused to listen. There was no sound from the apartment outside. No doubt Kurt had gone to sleep. She hesitated a moment and then pulled open the door.

The apartment was dark and silent. She crept out into the living room, using the city lights shining in through the patio doors to find her way across to the sofa. The television remote was sitting on the coffee table. She turned the tv on and quickly adjusted the volume down until she could barely hear it, hoping it wouldn't be loud enough to disturb Kurt.

The living room was cooler than her room, and she pulled her feet up next to her on the sofa as she flipped through the channels.

"Can't sleep?" She jumped as Kurt's voice came out of the darkness beyond the bright screen.

"I'm sorry," she blurted out, her hand on the heartbeat racing in her chest. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"No, it's fine." He moved around the coffee table to sit beside her on the sofa.

She reached for the remote. "I'll turn it off."

His hand on her arm stopped her. "Jane, this is your home too now. If you want to watch tv, then watch tv."

She hesitated, torn by indecision. "I'm sorry," she said finally, her hand dropping back into her lap. "I don't know how to do this."

"Do what?"

"This." She made an agitated gesture between the two of them. "Not be alone."

"Oh." She couldn't read his expression in the dim light of the television set. "You and Oscar didn't…"

 _Honesty_ , she reminded herself. "No. We met on a rooftop or in a basement. He'd give me a task or a mission. Sometimes we'd have sex." She carefully kept her gaze trained on the tv screen. "Then I'd go back to my safe house. I've never lived with anyone else that I can remember."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his small nod as he digested that.

"It took a little while to get used to having Sarah and Sawyer here," he said after a moment, "but it's been really quiet since they left." He turned his head to look at her. "It's nice to have you here, Jane."

She turned to look at him then. He seemed sincere, but she couldn't quite wrap her brain around the idea that he might actually _want_ her company, rather than seeing her as an inconvenience he had to put up with.

"We'll figure it out." He leaned forward and grabbed the remote. "Do you like Stephen Colbert?"

"Um, yeah."

He flipped the channel and sat back against the sofa, his shoulder brushing against hers.

Jane hesitated for a moment, and then settled back into the cushions beside him, feeling not alone for the first time in a very, very long time.


	10. Chapter 10

Well, there is a Christmas chapter planned for this story, but we're not there yet. Turns out I am kind of busy in December. And I am somehow surprised by this _every single year_. :)

So instead, I give you a fluffy, gratuitous Star Wars reference, because it is my headcanon that teen Kurt Weller escaped from reality to a galaxy far, far away. And also because I was still flailing over _Rogue One_ when I wrote this.

Wishing you a very merry Christmas if you celebrate, peace & joy & tasty cookies if you don't (or just prefer cookies). Thanks for being so lovely & supportive of me and all the fic authors out there.

Updates will resume sometime after my hordes of relatives depart & I get to spend a full 24 hours in my jammies...

* * *

Jane woke up at her usual time, before the alarm on her phone went off, and stared confused into the pre-dawn darkness. The faint light coming in through the windows was on the wrong side of the room. And then the previous day came rushing back at her.

She sat up and scrubbed her hands over her face. She'd gotten _married_. To _Weller_. And he'd sat up watching tv with her until he'd been almost asleep on the sofa beside her. She'd had to nudge him with her elbow to send him off to bed.

And _she'd_ fallen asleep right away and slept all the way through the night with no nightmares.

It might be harder than she'd expected to keep herself from getting too comfortable here.

She pulled on some clothes and crept quietly to the bathroom. She wasn't sure what time Kurt got up in the morning. He was usually at his desk by the time she arrived in the bullpen, but she worked out first, so she didn't know what time he arrived in the building.

Kurt was in the kitchen, standing in front of the coffee maker with his phone in his hand when she emerged from the bathroom. "Good morning. How'd you sleep?"

"Fine, thanks." Better than she had in a long while, actually.

He slipped his phone into his pocket, and a moment later, she felt the phone in her pocket vibrate.

"Coffee?" he asked, turning to pull two mugs out of the cupboard.

"Yes, please." She had a new message. From Kurt. "Why are you texting me? I'm right here."

He ignored her question and added some milk to one of the cups. "Here you go." He pushed the mug across the counter to her.

She was still looking at her phone. She tapped on the link he'd sent her and read, "New York State Driver's Manual," from the top of the page that loaded.

He sipped his coffee, looking at her over the rim of his mug.

"Driver's Manual?"

"Use our down time this week to read up so you can take your permit test."

She blinked.

"You said you didn't have a driver's license. You need to pass the permit test before you can take the on-the-road test and get your license."

She picked up the mug he'd fixed for her—exactly the way she liked it—and stared into it instead of meeting his eyes. She'd just thrown her lack of a license out there the other day. Not only had he listened, he had remembered and figured out what she needed to do in order to get one. Her coffee was too hot, but she gulped some down anyway, trying to get rid of the lump in her throat.

"Thanks," she said, when she was sure her voice would be steady.

He shrugged and turned away. "You've got to do all the work. You want some toast?"

"No, this is good." She held up the mug.

He frowned at her. "Your cereal is in the cabinet by the fridge."

She didn't want to admit that she'd bought the cereal for dinner on nights when they returned to the NYO too late for her to grab dinner from the cafeteria or order takeout. "I'll grab breakfast from the cafeteria after I'm done in the gym."

He grunted and fed two slices of bread into the toaster. "You don't eat enough."

She stared at him, mug forgotten in her hand. "What?"

He plunked a jar of peanut butter down on the counter in front of her. "You skip meals all the time. And there was no actual _food_ in your fridge."

"I eat plenty." She was torn between ire and a traitorous warmth in the region of heart at his concern.

"Hmmph." The toast popped up, and he slathered peanut butter on both slices. Then he plunked one on a second plate and pushed it toward her.

She drank her coffee and ignored the toast while he wolfed down his slice in about four bites.

He rinsed down the toast with the rest of his coffee and set his plate and mug in the sink. "Car leaves when you're done eating," he said over his shoulder as he left the kitchen.

She glared after him, but he didn't turn around and her effort was wasted. She glared at the toast, but it wasn't impressed either, so she shrugged and picked it up. She had plenty more things in the world to worry about than someone fixing her breakfast. She washed it down with the rest of her coffee, put her dishes in the sink next to his, and went to face her first day as Mrs. Weller.

###

She passed her permit test Friday afternoon.

They'd had a light week—no tattoo cases and no new intel on Sandstorm's plans, much to Nas's obvious frustration—so Jane had found a few hours to basically commit the manual to memory. The test was almost laughably easy compared to, say, piloting a helicopter.

She kept her face deliberately blank though, as she returned to the waiting area. Kurt was pacing around the row of chairs, but he turned toward her as soon as she entered. His brow was furrowed, and Jane realized with a start that he was actually _worrying_ about her passing the silly thing.

She allowed her features to relax into a grin. "I passed!" She held up the printout that showed her passing score.

His face lit up. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, his arms opened up and he caught her around the waist in a fierce hug, lifting her feet off the ground. "I knew you would," he muttered into her ear.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and squeezed him back. He felt warm and safe and solid, and she didn't want to let go.

He lowered her feet back down to the floor, but didn't immediately release her. She turned her face, her nose brushing against his cheek, and they stared at each other for one breath, then two.

And then she swallowed, and he let go, and they both stepped back.

"We should celebrate," he declared quickly. "Where do you want to go for dinner?"

Honestly, she would rather just go home and eat dinner in his kitchen. Being out in public was like being on stage. She worried that she'd do something that would expose that they weren't a couple. Or worse, that she'd do something too couple-y that would make Kurt uncomfortable or reveal how much she wished they actually were a couple. At home with him, they could just be Kurt and Jane instead of Mr. and Mrs. Weller.

She opened her mouth to answer, but he was already talking, his too-perceptive gaze never leaving her face. "I have a better idea. Let's pick up some steaks on the way home. And a couple of celebratory cupcakes from the bakery on the corner."

She closed her mouth and nodded with relief. "That sounds great."

"Good. You're driving." He pressed the keys into her hand. When she didn't move immediately, he added, "You need driving hours before you can take your road test."

He steered her toward the door, one large hand splayed across her lower back. "What kind of cupcake do you want?"

They couldn't decide on the cupcakes. They narrowed it down to German chocolate, s'mores, and mocha fudge. And then Jane saw the December special—chocolate with peppermint icing—and Kurt laughed and bought all four flavors. By the time they got back to his apartment, they had also acquired steaks, salad makings, and a bottle of wine.

"You're in charge of salad," he told her, moving to get wine glasses out of the cupboard.

"Yessir." She snapped a mock salute and then set to work.

Dinner had quickly become her favorite part of the day. Gone were her days of coming home to a dark, lonely apartment and a container of takeout food. Kurt enjoyed cooking, and he informed her it was a lot more fun to cook for someone else. He put her to work, never making fun of her for her lack of cooking skills and patiently teaching her the most basic of cooking tasks.

It frustrated her sometimes that she could field strip an M16 blindfolded but had to be shown the proper way to dice an onion. What had her prior life been like that it was more important for her to know dozens of ways to kill a man with her bare hands than it was to know how to feed herself properly?

 _You need to learn to cook_ , said the ever-present voice in the back of her head, _because this isn't going to last forever_. But she pushed the thought away. She had little enough time as it was, she wasn't going to waste a minute of it.

While they cooked, they talked. Sometimes they listened to music—and it always startled them both when she caught herself singing along. But if she stopped to think about it, the words disappeared. She'd scrunch up her face, trying to will them back, and he'd touch her on the arm and murmur, "It's okay."

And when he said that, it was.

"So." The cork emerged from the top of the bottle with a soft pop. He poured wine into two glasses and set one beside the sink where she was washing the salad greens. "What do you usually do on the weekend?"

She stared at the running water until the bowl was in danger of overflowing. With a shake of her head, she shut off the faucet. _Wait for Monday_ , was her honest answer. But she knew that wasn't what he was asking. "Go for a run. Maybe… see a movie." She'd visited a few museums, but it seemed like everyone was there with someone else. Movies were easier; no one noticed you were alone in the dark.

He nodded. "Laundry, grocery shopping. Not as much fun, but gotta be done."

She concentrated on draining the water out of the bowl of greens. She had so few clothes that she did laundry pretty much continuously. She'd started throwing some of his in when she started the machine. It seemed little enough in exchange for all of the meals he fixed, especially since he also insisted on helping her with the dishes.

"You want to see a movie tomorrow? It's supposed to pour all weekend. Not good weather for running."

She ran in the rain. Anything to avoid staring at the walls of her safe house for a little while. "What movie were you and Patterson talking about this morning?" she asked instead.

He grinned at her. "The new Star Wars movie."

At her blank look, his smile faded. "Wait. Am I married to a Star Trek fan?"

She shrugged helplessly. "That would be bad?"

"Well," he picked up his wine glass, "Star Trek is fine. But Star Wars is better."

Jane was pretty sure that Patterson had said something similar to her during her first stay at the FBI. She picked up her own glass. "Then I guess I'm a Stars Wars fan."

"Nope." His voice stopped her before she could take a sip.

"Nope?"

"You have to watch the movies first. In the proper order. Episodes four, five, and six. Then one, two, and three. Then _The Force Awakens_ —that's number seven. Then we can go see _Rogue One_."

"Right." She eyed the bottle of wine. "And how long will that take?"

He grinned. "All weekend. Hurry up with that salad. The steaks won't take long. We'll start after dinner."

And so about an hour later, she found herself tucked up on Kurt's sofa, a glass of wine in her hand and a plate of cupcakes on the coffee table in front of them, watching in bemusement as he hit the play button on the remote, grinning like a kid.

He settled in beside her, their shoulders rubbing companionably together. "You'll like it," he assured her, his face almost comically serious.

She just smiled. The movie could be absolutely horrible, and she would still love it. She couldn't remember having ever been happier.


	11. Chapter 11

Happy New Year, peeps! Here's a little bit more fluff to help usher in 2017.

* * *

 _Jane_.

Kurt awoke from a tumbled mix of dreams and found the woman featured in them curled up against his chest, fast asleep.

Still half-asleep himself, he instinctively hugged her closer, burying his face in her hair and breathing in the unique fragrance that was hers alone.

She made a soft little noise and pressed her face into his shoulder.

He was drifting back to sleep when he realized that the television was on and his left foot was asleep.

His eyes blinked open and he inhaled, coming fully awake. They must have fallen asleep during _The Phantom Menace_ , because the blu-ray player had reverted to the menu screen. He squinted at the screen and reached over toward the coffee table, just able to reach the remote without dislodging Jane. He hit the power button, and the room plunged into silent darkness.

His left foot was dangling off the sofa, and his right foot was still on the floor. He'd apparently leaned sideways when he'd fallen asleep, taking Jane with him.

He should wake her up so she could go to bed. He didn't want her to be uncomfortable—either physically while she slept or in the morning if she woke up next to him.

"Jane," he whispered.

She gave a small, negative grumble, her arm tightening on his waist.

He couldn't help smiling in the darkness.

On the other hand, he knew she had a hard time sleeping at night. Maybe it would be better to just let her rest.

He shifted slightly, so he could lift both feet onto the sofa.

The temperature had dropped during the night, and it was cool in the room. Raising an arm, he hooked the soft blanket hanging on the back of the sofa. One-handed, he spread it over both of them, carefully tucking it around Jane so she wouldn't be cold.

She gave a soft sigh, and he froze, afraid he'd woken her up. She nestled closer, and her breathing evened out again.

He gave in to the urge to press his lips to the top of her head.

And then he stared up at the shadowed ceiling and admitted that he was well and truly screwed.

He'd offered Jane a platonic marriage and promised to keep her safe. Only a jerk would try to change the terms of their relationship after the fact. The last thing in the world he wanted was for Jane to sleep with him because she felt grateful or obligated.

Jane was only at the FBI as long as it took to bring down Shepherd. He was smart enough to know there was a good chance that she'd just disappear when that was done, married or not. Her sense of honor would see her through the task that she'd committed to. But once it was done, she'd have no reason to stay with a man who'd already turned her over to the CIA once before.

One way or another, she'd go, leaving a Jane-shaped hole in his life when she did.

So he did the only thing he could. He wrapped his arms around her, turned his face into her hair, and closed his eyes. He'd hold her as close as he could for as long as he could, and promised himself he'd let her go when it was time.

###

Jane came awake slowly, feeling cozy and well-rested. And then she opened her eyes and discovered she was sleeping _on_ Kurt.

Her indrawn breath was apparently enough to wake him.

Lazy blue eyes blinked open, looked into hers, and then crinkled at corners. "Good morning," he said, voice still rough with sleep.

She was helpless to resist the smile in his eyes. "Good morning. Uh, I'm sorry—" And then she realized that at some point during the night, one of them had pulled the blanket down from the back of the sofa. Would Kurt have done that? Instead of waking her up? Or had _she_ done that? She didn't remember it, but that didn't mean she hadn't. At least she didn't remember having any nightmares or doing anything too embarrassing.

She scrambled off of him. "I must have been sleeping pretty solidly. You should have woken me up."

"Jane. It's okay—"

She was too embarrassed to look directly at him. "I'm sorry. I'm just going to—" She waved her hand in the direction of the bathroom. "Shower." And then she all but ran out of the room.

She didn't stop to draw a deep breath until she had closed the door behind her. And it wasn't until she was standing under the too-hot spray of the shower that she let herself admit that she'd liked waking up in his arms far more than she should.

She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the tiled wall. She couldn't allow herself to fall for Kurt again. She couldn't handle that kind of hurt again.

She'd known the risk when she agreed to this marriage, and she'd told herself that she could maintain the same kind of distantly polite relationship they'd had since she returned to the FBI. She'd let herself get too comfortable, let herself start to believe the ruse.

 _This is only temporary. It isn't real._

She was going to have to be a lot more careful around him. If he were to guess that she still had feelings for him, it would only embarrass them both and make the next few months—or _years_ —interminable.

By the time she shut the water off, she had talked herself down into some semblance of calm. She hadn't brought any clean clothes in with her, so she dressed again in the clothes she slept in, and then darted into her room to change.

When she came out of her room, prepared to quickly apologize and brush off any lingering awkwardness, Kurt was cooking breakfast in the kitchen, his phone pinched between his shoulder and ear as he added shredded cheese to an omelet.

"Send me your flight info. Look forward to seeing you guys. … Yeah, love you too. Bye." He set the phone on the counter and stared pensively at the pan.

Jane made some tiny movement, and his chin jerked around. "Hey. There's coffee."

She nodded and crept by, busying herself with pouring a cup and adding milk so she wouldn't ask him about the call.

He folded the omelet and slid it onto a plate. "Salsa and cheddar." He set it at her place at the counter and turned back to the pan to fix one for himself.

"Thank you." She got out two settings of silverware and set them on the counter at her place and his, then carried her coffee around to take her seat.

"That was Sarah." He poured the eggs in, tilting the pan to distribute them evenly. "She and Sawyer have decided to spend Christmas in New York."

New York of course meant _here,_ in this apartment. More specifically, Sarah would expect to sleep in her own room, since Kurt's _wife_ should be sleeping with him.

She stared at her plate, fork hovering forgotten above the omelet. "I could go stay with Roman for Christmas."

Kurt snorted. "You do realize that you're the reason she's coming."

"Me?" Jane blinked up at him.

"Last month she gave me a whole song and dance about how they were spending Thanksgiving and Christmas out there because Sawyer hadn't gotten to spend holidays with his dad in so long. And then she calls me, two weeks out, to tell me that they're coming. I'm sure it has _nothing_ to do with our marriage. Purely a coincidence." He rolled his eyes and turned back to the stove to spoon salsa over his omelet.

Jane gave up trying to eat and set her fork on the plate. It was one thing to pretend to be married in front of their coworkers. And at least the team knew the truth. But to pretend in front of Kurt's sister? Who knew him better than probably anyone? Who would naturally expect two newlyweds to behave affectionately around each other?

"Jane?"

She looked up to find Kurt eyeing her with a worried expression. "I can call her back. Tell her it's not convenient."

But he had wanted to spend Christmas with his sister and nephew, she could see it in his face. He'd told her that he missed them. He probably hadn't seen them since they'd moved nearly four months ago.

"No, it's fine." She forced a smile to her face and picked up her fork determinedly. "This smells delicious, thank you."

He slid his omelet onto a plate and came around the counter to sit beside her.

"So…" he began awkwardly.

"Sarah will expect to sleep in her room," Jane finished for him. "That's fine. Just let me know when she's coming, and I'll move my stuff into your room."

"I have a sleeping bag. I can sleep on the floor."

She forced a smile. She could do this. _They_ could do this. "Don't be ridiculous."

She'd just have to stay on her side. She was sure she could do that.

He gave a small shrug. "We managed to share a sofa last night. At least the bed is bigger."

She could feel her cheeks flushing. "About that—"

"Did I snore?" Kurt put his coffee mug down. "Tell me I didn't snore. _You_ didn't snore."

The smile that broke through then was genuine. "You didn't snore either."

"Good. Because what we really need to talk about is the fact that you fell asleep during Star Wars. It was Jar Jar, wasn't it?" He shook his head sadly. "I don't know what George Lucas was smoking. Finish your omelet, and tell me what the last thing is that you remember. We've got three more movies to get in today."

She just laughed and did as she was told. She had two weeks to worry about Sarah's visit.

And if maybe she was looking forward to sleeping next to Kurt again? No one needed to know but her.


	12. Chapter 12

Happy New Year!

Less fluff. A little more angst. But with kissing, so that's okay, right? Thought so.

* * *

Jane's life settled into a routine that was as comfortable as it was strange. She and Kurt ate lunch together most days, ostensibly to show the NYO how "devoted" they were, but unofficially, Jane was sure, so that Kurt could make sure she was eating. And although she wouldn't have admitted it to him, she _did_ eat more now that she wasn't eating alone. Food apparently tasted better with company. Kurt's leftovers were also a lot more appealing than her usual rotation of cold cafeteria sandwiches.

She wandered past his office late Wednesday morning on her way to find Patterson when Kurt stuck his head out of his door. "Jane!"

She turned just in time to catch the keys he'd tossed to her. "Where do you need to be chauffeured to now?"

He insisted she needed driving practice before her test, but it was pretty clear to both of them that she'd been driving for years, so now she just teased him that he was abusing his power at the NYO by making an asset drive him around.

He grinned. "The DMV. I am meeting-free until this afternoon. You have an appointment in an hour. If you pass your test, I'll pick up lunch for the team."

"No pressure," drawled Zapata from her desk. "But I'm starving."

Reade was more reassuring. "You got this, Jane."

"Got what?" asked Patterson, appearing around the corner, tablet in hand.

"Jane's taking her driving test today," Zapata told her. "Lunch is on Weller if she passes."

Patterson frowned at Weller. "Don't make her nervous!" To Jane she added, "You know this is going to be a piece of cake. But good luck anyway!"

"Right. Thanks." Jane shot her husband a dark look. "I guess I'll go get my coat."

Weller just grinned. "Text me your orders," he called over his shoulder as he followed Jane to the locker room.

The license examiner had terrible coffee breath and was very suspicious that Jane didn't have a license already. He also scowled through the entire test—which was good, because he kept his mouth closed—but gave a grudging nod at the end. "You passed," he grumbled, when Jane parked the car in front of the testing center. Jane left the window cracked despite the freezing temperature and went back into the waiting area to find Kurt.

As before, he was pacing around and turned immediately in her direction when she entered the room. "Yes?"

She barely had a chance to nod before he scooped her up in a crushing hug.

Emboldened by her success, she turned her face to press a kiss to his cheek—just as he turned his face toward her. Their lips met in an awkward kiss.

Jane would have drawn back, but Kurt's arms around her back tightened and he kissed her back, and she gave up the thought of anything besides him.

This kiss—their fourth—was less hesitant than their kiss at the wedding. His mouth moved against hers, and her lips softened and welcomed his. The busy waiting room disappeared, along with all the reasons why they shouldn't be doing this, and the only thing she knew was how right it felt to kiss him, to feel his arms around her.

"Ms. Weller!" The was a loud cough behind her, and the spell was broken.

Kurt pulled back, just far enough to whisper, "That's you, Mrs. Weller."

"Right," she agreed but didn't move.

He smiled and set her down—somehow she hadn't even registered that he was still holding her off the ground—and then leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. "Congrats," he whispered. "Go get your license."

She nodded and turned away. She supposed she should feel awkward or embarrassed, but all she felt was annoyed at the examiner's interruption. It felt like something seismic had shifted under her feet, and she didn't know quite how to regain her balance.

###

"Heads up." Kurt tossed his car keys at Jane as they walked toward the car the next morning and made a mental note that he should probably find the second set of car keys and put it on her ring, now that she didn't need a licensed driver in the car with her.

She stared at him blankly, the keys resting in her outstretched palm. "I got my license yesterday. I don't need driving hours anymore. You can drive."

"Nah." He climbed into the passenger seat.

After a moment, she opened the driver's door. "What, you got used to being chauffeured around?" She shook her head and muttered something that sounded like "Driving Miss Daisy." He was certain she hadn't seen the movie—or didn't remember it if she had—so he likely had Zapata to thank for that reference. He'd hoped that the women might renew a friendship, but somehow he hadn't envisioned them bonding over jokes at his expense.

"Nope. But I don't have to look at the road any more now." He made a big show of pulling out his phone. Not that he'd paid all that much attention to her driving before, to be honest. Jane had the best reflexes of anyone he knew, and she was constantly scanning the road and the mirrors. He didn't think it was even conscious on her part, just naturally ingrained after years of training. She could probably drive an M1 tank without blinking an eye. An SUV, even in New York traffic, hardly presented a challenge for her.

Not much rattled Jane from a vehicular or weapons standpoint, but she'd been unnaturally subdued since their kiss yesterday, and he wasn't quite sure what to make of that.

On the one hand, she'd kissed him. Or at least, he was pretty sure that was what had happened. She'd been so flustered after accidentally falling asleep on him last weekend, he'd pretty much resigned himself that any feelings she might once have had for him in _that_ way were gone. And then they'd kissed and now… He didn't know what to think.

Jane was doing a pretty good job at pretending that the kiss hadn't happened at all. She'd been quiet the rest of the day and was careful to sit a respectable distance from him on the sofa when they watched tv last night. If the memory wasn't so damned vivid—and hadn't been replaying in his mind on continuous loop for the past twenty hours—he'd think he'd hallucinated the whole thing.

The phone in his hand buzzed angrily at him, and he grunted in surprise, drawn out of his musings.

"Problem?" Jane asked, her eyes never leaving the road in front of them.

He frowned at the screen and the text message displayed there.

"No." Nothing he couldn't handle, at least.

Jane nodded. She turned the wheel, and the gold band on her left hand flashed in the rising sunlight. She was his wife, and he had promised her that he would protect her. And that meant protecting her family, too.

He looked back at his phone and tapped a brief reply. "You want some company sparring this morning?"

She shot him a quick glance, surprise evident on her face. "You going to join me?"

He grinned. "Not me. I know better." He might have been larger and stronger, but she was faster and knew fighting techniques he hadn't even seen in movies. She could kick his butt seven different ways to Sunday.

"Zapata?"

"Nope." Zapata was the only member of the team who'd been willing to spar with Jane since she'd returned to the FBI. He suspected that it was because, even though Jane usually won, Zapata landed plenty hits of her own. She didn't pull her punches, and he was sure both women preferred it that way.

"Then who?" Jane demanded.

"You'll see."

She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, a speculative look on her face.

Roman and his detail were waiting for them when they finally got to the level with the gym facilities.

"Roman!" Jane didn't hesitate, moving quickly to hug her brother. Kurt noted that Roman's arms weren't quite as quick to move as hers, but he did return her embrace, murmuring something in her ear as he did.

Jane stepped back, and Roman turned to face Kurt. "Weller."

Kurt held out his hand to shake. "Roman." The other man's grip was solid, and his gaze was just as strong. The last time they'd met, it was simply as an FBI Assistant Director and an FBI asset. But this time, it was as brothers-in-law. He met Roman's assessing look head on. He didn't know how much Roman knew—or had known—about what Jane had gone through, but he needed to know that Kurt wasn't going to let anything happen to his sister on his watch.

The younger man stared at him for a long moment and then gave a slight nod before turning away to speak to Jane again.

Kurt motioned to Roman's detail to step off to the side as the siblings moved on to the sparring mat. He had a few questions to ask them.

There was nothing unusual about Roman's movements for the past few days. He'd been in and out of the NYO for questioning and meeting with the new psychologist assigned to replace Borden. He'd been checked out again by the medical staff who'd made exactly zero progress in understanding exactly how extensive his memory loss was or if he would regain any of it, although he seemed to have more breakthrough memories, probably due to the lower dose of ZIP he'd received. And then he'd been returned to his safe house, where he had received only his sister for carefully monitored visits. There was nothing to indicate why Nas had suddenly decided she wanted him to interact more with the team at the NYO.

He realized after a few minutes that both of the agents were looking past him as they spoke. They had none of answers he really needed, so he gave up questioning them and turned around.

Jane and Roman were circling each other on the mat. When he'd first met Roman, he hadn't seen much resemblance between them beyond maybe the shape of their eyes. But in motion, the resemblance was clear. They both moved with the same catlike grace, shifting their weight and moving fluidly, with no hesitation. And clearly they had spent a significant amount of time training together. They might not have any conscious memory of those years, but muscle memory told no lies. They were perfectly matched, almost effortlessly parrying the other's every kick and blow. But even more telling were the identical grins on both of their faces as the bout went on with neither able to gain a clear advantage. Roman was, like Weller, larger and stronger than Jane. But she was faster and lighter on her feet, not allowing him the time to use his advantages against her.

It was still early, and there had been only a handful of people in the gym when they'd arrived. But like the agents in front of him, they had given up any pretense at pretending they weren't watching Jane and Roman and were now gawking openly.

Kurt couldn't deny that he was impressed too. He'd sparred with Jane enough himself to know how good she was. Roman was clearly just as good, but Jane wasn't giving an inch. And frankly… his money was on Jane. She never, ever gave up. No matter what the odds or what it cost her, she never stopped fighting, never stopped trying.

If she wasn't like that, he realized grimly, she'd probably be dead by now. It was a curious feeling, wanting to protect someone who was more than capable of saving herself. And him too, if the situation warranted—which it had, on more occasions than he cared to admit. And yet, she'd married him anyway. Let herself be vulnerable around him. Because in spite of everything that she'd gone through, she trusted him.

The weight of that trust was staggering.

More people had trickled in as he'd stood there, and now they were lining the walls, elbowing each other and taking bets on the outcome. He caught a few of them glancing his way from time to time, and recognized several of them as agents who had attended their impromptu wedding reception. One of them muttered something that Kurt couldn't quite make out, but he caught the slight nod in his direction and the word "wife."

He stifled a grin. Jane had been worried that marrying her was going to hurt his career. But he was sure as word of this match got out, his street cred amongst his agents was going to go through the roof.

His smile faded as he took in the male gazes that were focused on Jane in a slightly _more_ than admiring fashion. On the plus side, at least most of them weren't dumb enough to risk their jobs by hitting on their boss's _wife_.

Clearly he and Jane were going to need to work a bit to convince the NYO that theirs was in fact a love match. And that she was _not_ available for flirtation. Not because she couldn't defend herself, but because Kurt would break the arms of any guy who tried to take her from him.

With a last nod at the two agents, he turned and left the room. As much as he'd have loved to stay and watch, he had a few questions for Nas that he needed to ask when Jane wasn't around to hear them.


	13. Chapter 13

Blindspot comes back tonight! Did you stock up on booze and chocolate?

So I didn't make my goal of finishing this story before the mid-season premiere. Ooops. And this chapter gets back into the angst. Also ooops. I promise to make it up to you soon! (The rating is going to go up here in a bit, just so you know.)

* * *

"Do you know why I'm here?" Roman muttered to Jane as they walked toward the bullpen, trailed by his detail.

She shook her head. "No." Her hair was still damp from her shower, and she tucked it nervously behind her ear. She had her suspicions, though. They'd made no progress in finding Sandstorm in the past several weeks, and Nas was obviously running out of patience.

The team was already assembled in the bullpen when they arrived. Nas was in the center of the room, watching them approach. Kurt stood off to the side, his arms crossed over his chest. He gave a tiny nod when his gaze met Jane's, but he didn't say anything, and he didn't smile.

Nerves prickled up and down her spine.

Roman stopped beside Jane.

She glanced over at him, but his narrowed gaze was fixed on Nas.

"Roman. I am Nas Kamal. You know Assistant Director Weller. This is Agent Patterson, Agent Reade, and Agent Zapata." She nodded at each individual in turn. "This is the team that Jane has been assisting."

A muscle worked along Kurt's jaw, but he didn't say anything.

"We'd like you to assist us, too. Your memory loss doesn't seem to be as extensive as Jane's, and we're hopeful that you might be able to recall some details about Sandstorm if you examine some of the evidence we've collected."

Jane crossed her arms over her chest. This was all that she'd asked for, months ago: Roman here at the FBI, helping the team. The request that Nas had denied. "Why now?"

Nas nodded to Patterson, who stepped forward, tablet in hand. "There was an explosion at a warehouse in Brooklyn last night." She tapped the screen, and images of the smoking wreckage appeared on the wall behind her. "The explosion was reported as being of unknown origins, but the preliminary information we've gathered indicates that it was deliberately set." She looked up from the tablet. "Every bomb has a unique fingerprint. The type of explosive used, the manner in which it was detonated… This explosion is very similar to the one at the Sandstorm headquarters. Not exactly the same, but close enough to warrant a look. I'm pulling security footage from the whole complex, and I'll compare it to the images picked up by the traffic cameras around the Sandstorm base, see if we get any hits."

"This is the only lead we've had in weeks. We don't know yet what was in the warehouse that was destroyed," Nas picked up. "But two security guards were killed in the explosion. Nine agents died in the explosion two weeks ago. Several more are still in the hospital. From what you told Jane, thousands of innocents will die if Sandstorm carries out their plans. I'm sure you don't want that on your conscience."

Roman regarded her impassively. If it wasn't for the faint twitching of his fingertips, Jane would have thought his conscience wasn't troubled at all. "I'm sure your team of shrinks already informed you that my most recent memories are almost completely gone. What has come back to me is mostly from my childhood."

Nas nodded. "Yes, we know. But Jane's memory loss was more extensive than yours, and she's still found more recent memories to be triggered by familiar sights and sounds. We believe you had a hand in designing some of Jane's tattoos. We were hoping that if you studied them more closely, something might come back to you."

Roman met her stare head on, but said nothing. After a moment, Reade and Zapata exchanged glances, making it clear that Roman's presence here hadn't been an idea either of them had endorsed.

"Are you offering him the same deal that you made me?" Jane squared her shoulders, matching her brother's stance. "No charges for any Sandstorm crimes. Protection from Sandstorm _and_ from the CIA."

"Yes. The same terms."

Jane wondered if anyone besides her heard the tiny hesitation before Nas answered.

After another interminable pause, Roman nodded. "All right."

And Jane let out the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. It wasn't a guarantee of anything, she knew. But it was more safety than he'd had before. And it alleviated a tiny bit of the guilt she felt that she'd taken advantage of Weller's proposal to ensure her safety, while leaving her brother at the mercy of the FBI and the CIA, not to mention Sandstorm.

"Jane, can you familiarize Roman with the tattoo database?" Barely waiting for Jane's nod, Nas continued, "Patterson, let us know as soon as you find anything from the warehouse explosion."

The group dispersed. Jane noted that Reade and Zapata gave Roman a wide berth. Patterson gave him—or possibly Jane—a vague smile as she walked by, her attention focused on her tablet.

Weller glanced over at Jane and Roman, but it was Nas his gaze followed as she marched out the door.

The cold fingers were back, skittering up and down Jane's spine.

Roman followed her to the workstation she'd been using. Jane pulled a second chair over so he could sit down beside her.

"You trust her?" he asked, tilting his head down slightly, so that no one could see what he was asking Jane.

She hesitated. "I have to," she said finally.

He nodded, clearly hearing what she couldn't say. "But you trust Weller?"

"Yes." She didn't hesitate this time. "And you can too."

"Okay." He paused, looking at her. "He trusts her." It wasn't really a question.

She swallowed. "Yes."

"You'd better show me this database I'm supposed to be studying."

Jane was grateful that he didn't ask the question she didn't want to answer: Who did Weller trust more, Jane or Nas?

###

It was after six when Jane finally gave up waiting for her husband. He usually flagged her down when he was done for the day so they could head home. But she'd hardly seen him since the meeting that morning. She'd had lunch in the cafeteria with Roman. Kurt hadn't come in while they were eating, and his office was empty when she'd walked by after lunch.

Roman had gone home an hour ago, escorted by his detail. The rest of the team had trickled out after that, leaving Jane alone in the bullpen.

She checked the time on her phone again. They'd planned to go Christmas shopping again that evening on the way home. She'd purchased gifts for Sarah and Roman, but she still needed something for Sawyer. She shut down her workstation and headed over to Kurt's office.

He was scowling at his computer screen when she stuck her head in. "How's it going?"

He looked up. "Jane."

"It's after six. Are you ready to head home?"

"I've, ah, got some things to wrap up here." He rubbed at his forehead. "You don't have to wait for me. I'm going to be a while. Go on home."

Given that they'd arrived at the office before seven that morning, he was going on twelve hours at work, more or less straight. Not that this was unusual, but Jane knew he wasn't exactly cut out for twelve hours sitting at a desk. "Are you sure? That can't wait until tomorrow?"

"No. It can't." He softened his curt response to add, "There are leftovers in the fridge. Don't wait for me to eat."

"Are you going to be that late?"

"Probably."

"You want me to grab you something for dinner before I go?"

The tension in his face eased for a minute, and he smiled at her. "Thanks but no. I'll get something later."

"Okay, then. Don't stay too late."

He nodded but turned his attention back to his computer screen, so Jane let the door close.

She stopped in the locker room and grabbed her jacket. She was heading for the elevator when she put her hands in her pockets and realized that she still had Kurt's key ring with the car keys, as well as her own ring with the apartment key. She pivoted and headed back around the corner.

At the far end of the hall, she caught sight of her husband's back as he stepped into Nas's annex. She quickened her pace so she could catch up before they got into a big discussion.

Nas's throaty chuckle caught her just as she reached the doorway, and she stopped, just out of sight.

"Took you long enough."

Kurt's voice carried clearly out into the hallway. "I had to wait for Jane to leave."


	14. Chapter 14

_I had to wait for Jane to leave._

Kurt's voice echoed in Jane's ears as she made her way up to his office. She carefully set his key ring in the dead center of his desk blotter and then made her way back out to the elevator. She stared blankly at the panel of buttons for a moment and then pushed the one for the street-level exit. She needed to walk.

 _I had to wait for Jane to leave._

The office buildings around her were clearing out, and she blended into the crowd of commuters heading home for the night.

 _Home_. Jane didn't have a home. She'd started thinking about Kurt's apartment as her home, but it wasn't really. It was temporary.

Just like her marriage.

God, she was such a fool. Even though he'd only made her a business offer, even though she'd told herself that she was fine with that… She didn't realize how much hope she'd had until it was gone. Hope that she could regain his trust. Hope that one day he might have the same sort of feelings for her that he once had. Hope that their sham marriage might somehow become a real one.

And it wasn't like she hadn't known he was sleeping with Nas. Hell, he'd admitted it. She'd just thought… what, that he would throw over his NSA girlfriend for a former terrorist who'd made him her mark? Who'd exploited his feelings for his childhood best friend? She cringed. Nas was a straight shooter. She might not be warm and cuddly, but she was clear about what she wanted and she hadn't lied to Weller about anything. Unlike Jane, who had lied to him about _everything_.

The sun had long since set, and the already cold air was growing frigid. Warm air gusted up from the steps of a subway station, but Jane just shoved her hands in her pockets and kept walking.

Even if hadn't been… personal—she thrust the thought of Nas's smoky chuckle out of her head—even if Kurt had wanted to discuss something FBI- or Sandstorm-related… It was something that he hadn't trusted Jane enough to let her hear. All this time that she thought they were being honest with each other, she'd been the only one being honest. While he waited for her to slip up, waited to catch the lie he assumed would be coming.

What she'd thought was her second chance was no more than a long goodbye.

And the worst of it was, he'd never lied to her. He'd married her to keep her out of Keaton's grasp. Which helped her, sure, but also ensured that she would remain available to the FBI for the Sandstorm investigation. He'd suggested that they could stay married long enough to get her green card, but he checked regularly with Patterson, no doubt hoping that her adoption records turned up sooner rather than later. And even if they did stay married that long, he could assure himself that he'd more than made up for any damage he'd done to her by turning her over to the CIA and walk away with a clear conscience.

She walked and walked, city blocks disappearing beneath her feet as her thoughts chased around in circles like a dog chasing its tail. Every conversation they'd had, she saw now in a new light. His concern for her eating habits… she couldn't deny that she was stronger and in better shape now than she'd been when she first returned to the FBI. A better asset for the team, better able to do her job. Getting her license? Now no one had to drive her anywhere. She could go out in the field alone, without risking any more good agents like the ones she'd helped kill at the Sandstorm headquarters. Nas could send her and now Roman out as bait to lure Shepherd out of hiding. If Shepherd got to them before the FBI could stop her… no one would mourn the loss of two uninformed informants.

Even Star Wars, she realized as she walked by a movie theater advertising the new movie they'd planned to see this weekend. She'd thought that maybe she identified with Luke Skywalker, turning her back on Shepherd and Sandstorm like Luke had turned away from his father and the Dark Side. But Kurt likely viewed her as more like Anakin instead… her resemblance to Taylor was the mask she'd hidden behind. She'd chosen the Dark Side, and like Anakin, she wouldn't be redeemed until she killed Shepherd. Or died.

She'd been walking for nearly an hour when her stomach grumbled. She heard Kurt's voice in her head reminding her to eat but she tuned it out and kept going. She'd covered another six blocks before she gave in and bought a gyro and a bottled water from a food truck. She nibbled at it half-heartedly and managed to eat about two-thirds of it before her stomach rebelled. She threw the rest of it away, rinsed it down with the water, and kept going.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she grabbed for it, hoping, always stupidly hoping, that it might be Kurt. But it was a text from Oliver. She stared at her phone blankly for a minute. She hadn't even figured out how to tell him she'd gotten married. To the guy she'd said was her brother but was actually sort of her boss because she was an asset of the FBI. She shook her head, silenced the ringer, and shoved the phone back in her pocket.

Somewhere around 48th Street, she got swept up by the crowd, and it wasn't until she saw the giant Christmas tree that she realized she'd walked all the way to Rockefeller Plaza.

She didn't remember celebrating Christmas. In the dim recesses of her memory, she recalled handing Roman—Ian—the coin. Christmas? Or maybe his birthday, she couldn't be sure. She'd been worried about Sarah's visit, but she'd also been secretly looking forward to Christmas. To celebrating with an actual family, with her brother and her husband, a sister-in-law and a nephew-in-law. To feeling _normal_ for once.

But like everything else in her life, it was just an illusion. Another lie in an endless succession of them. She'd lie to Sarah, tell her that her marriage was a love match. She'd lie to Kurt and pretend that she didn't care. She'd lie to Roman and tell him that she was fine. She was a soldier, she'd just keep going. Just as she always had.

She squared her shoulders and headed for the subway.

###

The lights were on. She blinked as she set her keys on the table by the door.

And then Kurt emerged from the kitchen doorway. "Where have you been?"

She stared at him dumbly. It had been just after eight when she'd gotten on the subway. She hadn't expected him to come home until much later—if at all.

"I was walking." Kurt frowned, and she added, "I was going to go Christmas shopping, but I don't know what to get for Sawyer."

He rubbed his forehead. "Sorry, we were supposed to go tonight. We'll go tomorrow. Did you eat?"

And it was beyond stupid that a simple question like that would make her want to burst into tears.

"I got something from a truck."

"Health food, I'm sure." He smiled, and she forced her lips to copy the shape.

"Very."

"You didn't answer your phone. I was worried."

She pulled the phone from her pocket and hit the button to illuminate the screen. At the bottom was the notification that she'd missed two phone calls from Kurt. But above it, in bright letters was the latest text from Oliver, "Dinner Thursday?"

She looked up at Kurt, but he was looking at the phone in her hand.

"I—"

But he cut her off. "Right," he said quietly. A muscle clenched in his jaw. "Just—Be discreet. For INS." And he turned away, back to the kitchen.

Jane stood frozen in the hall.

 _Be discreet. For INS_.

He thought she'd been out with another man, and that was all he had to say. That was how much he cared, how much she meant to him. And she was suddenly so angry at him, angry at him for not caring, for not loving her back the way she loved him.

She took two steps forward, to the kitchen door.

He had his back to her, putting dishes into the sink.

"You might want to be more discreet yourself," she told his back, her voice shaking.

He turned to face her, frowning.

"You didn't need to wait for me to leave. You just needed to be honest with me."

Understanding dawned in his eyes, but it was tempered by guilt. "Jane—"

"I'm not sleeping with Oliver. I'm not sleeping with anyone. But if I do decide to see someone, I'll at least do _my husband_ the courtesy of letting you know." The angry words bubbled out, and as she heard them echo in the air she realized what she was inadvertently admitting.

She blanked her face. If there was one thing that she was exceptionally good it, it was hiding pain.

"You don't owe me anything. But this—" she gestured between them. "This is too hard if we can't be honest with each other." She drew a breath and started over. "I heard you with Nas. I walked. Alone. And now I'm home. And I'm going to go take a shower. Good night." She gave him a nod, turned on her heel, and left the kitchen.

"Jane!" His voice stopped her before she reached the safety of her bedroom. She heard his footsteps behind her, but she couldn't bring herself to turn around.

"I wasn't—I wanted to talk to Nas. To _talk_ ," he stressed, "about why she brought Roman in to the office today."

Roman. It wasn't just her anymore. She needed to watch her footing if she wanted to make sure that Roman came through this unscathed.

She turned to face him. "She said he would have the same deal as me. Help the FBI bring down Shepherd, stop Sandstorm, and he goes free, no charges, no CIA."

"Yes."

"A month ago, she wouldn't consider that. What changed?"

"You're not embedded with Sandstorm anymore. Roman doesn't have enough memories to be useful in tracking them."

"So why bring him in?" She crossed her arms.

"We don't have any leads. And…" He hesitated.

"And?"

"Shepherd doesn't know about his memory loss. If she finds out he's at the FBI, she'll assume he's telling us everything he knows."

"She'll find out soon enough that isn't much, when we don't stop her."

He nodded. "So we need to make sure that she knows he's here, to try to push her into taking action."

"And maybe make a mistake." It wasn't likely, given what they knew of Shepherd's Machiavellian planning, but it was possible. And at the moment, it was the only plan they had. "So trot me and Roman out as bait."

Surprise flickered in his eyes, as though he thought she wouldn't have been able to see that was what Nas had planned.

"So where's the problem?"

He dropped his chin, blue gaze zeroing in on her. "It's _dangerous_ , Jane. For you and for Roman. Shepherd and the rest of Sandstorm are likely to shoot both of you on sight."

What about this _hadn't_ been dangerous? She shook her head, trying to make sense of this. "What did Nas say?"

"She said that you were committed to bringing down Sandstorm, even if you had to put yourself at risk to do it."

Jane shrugged. "She's right."

"And Roman?"

She swallowed. "What choice does he have? Help the FBI or go to jail, get sent to the CIA? Even if he refused to help, Sandstorm could probably take him out in FBI custody. You can't promise there isn't another Borden somewhere in the FBI. Nothing has changed, this is still the only choice that either Roman or I have."

He dropped his head and sighed. "That's what Nas said."

"So we're all agreed." She waited a second and then turned back toward her room.

"Jane."

"What?" She didn't turn around.

"It would—it would bother me if you were seeing Oliver."

She closed her eyes. "I'm not." She'd be the good, dutiful wife, up until the divorce papers were signed.

"I know." After a moment, he continued, "I'm not sleeping with Nas. And I'm not going to sleep with anyone else while I'm married to you."

"You don't owe me anything," she told him tiredly.

"Do you want to know why?" he asked, as though she hadn't spoken.

She already knew the answer. Because that was the kind of man he was. He wouldn't cheat. Even, apparently, on a fake marriage.

She didn't turn around, didn't say anything, but her chin twitched ever so slightly toward him, and he saw. Of course, he saw.

"Because the only woman I want to sleep with is you."

* * *

Gee, you guys had no faith in me. Or in Kurt, lol!

Also, spoiler alert: The rating is going up in the next chapter. ;-)


	15. Chapter 15

"The only woman I want to sleep with is you."

Kurt's words rang out in the air behind her, and Jane forgot how to breathe.

"But that wasn't part of our bargain. So..." His voice trailed off.

She turned around, face blank, shoulders squared, prepared to discover that he'd said something else, that she'd misunderstood.

He took in her stance, and his face blanked, too. "Right," he said. He swallowed, and his shoulders slumped ever so slightly as he exhaled.

She could walk away now. In the morning, they'd both pretend this conversation had never taken place, and go back to pretending to be spouses or friends or whatever the hell they were.

 _The greatest risk is not taking one_. That had been her fortune the day they had gotten married. And when had she ever walked away from a risk?

She took two steps forward, put her hands on his shoulders, and kissed him.

For a split second, he didn't move, and she had the sudden, terrible fear that she'd misunderstood him after all. And then his arms came up to grab her and hold her tight, and his lips kissed her back, and it was better than any kiss they'd shared before. Better than any kiss she'd had, ever.

This kiss was slow and thorough, searching and tender, and Jane felt the same instinctive sense of _home_ that she'd felt when they'd kissed after their wedding.

And then Kurt drew back far enough to look into her eyes, and she saw the crease between his eyebrows. He reached up to touch her cheek. "Are you sure?"

She stared, unblinking, into his eyes. "I'm sure." She turned her cheek slightly, nuzzling against his palm, and he brought his other hand up to cup her face gently and draw her in for another kiss.

This kiss started out slow and soft, but didn't stay that way for long. She wrapped her arms around his neck, arching up against him. He flattened his palm in the small of her back, holding her tightly to him. There were only the layers of their clothes between them—and it was still too much.

Jane reached down to tug at the bottom of Kurt's shirt, yanking it free from his pants so she could place her palms on the warm skin of his back. She felt his muscles ripple beneath her fingertips, and he made a growling noise in his throat, biting down gently on her lower lip. She pushed him away slightly in retaliation so she could tackle the buttons on his shirt. He chuckled and dragged up the bottom of her shirt, trailing his fingertips across the skin he exposed, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

He leaned in to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the pulse in her neck, sending tremors through her whole body. She made a low noise, deep in her throat, and her fingers fumbled against his buttons and gave up, twisting in the fabric to pull him closer instead. He chuckled and leaned away, ignoring her noise of protest, tugging her shirt up and over her head followed by her sports bra, and then his mouth was back where she wanted it, hot and urgent against the sensitive spot at the base of her neck she'd never known existed until just now. She ran her fingers through his hair, cradling his head against her.

His hands traced her ribs, moving slowly, inexorably upwards until he cupped her breasts in his hands, stroking his thumbs across her sensitized nipples. She swayed on her feet then, and he caught her around the waist, lifted her up, crossed the three steps to the sofa, and sat down with her on his lap.

She leaned away from him then, grappling anew at the buttons on his shirt. "Off," she commanded, her breathless voice sounding foreign in her ears.

He yanked at the front of it, sending buttons flying, and Jane shoved it off his shoulders. He leaned forward to yank his arms free, and then pulled her in against him, skin on skin. Their mouths met, open and hot and wet, and she twisted until she could straddle his lap, bringing them together where they most desperately needed contact.

Kurt tore his mouth away from hers, pulling her higher and tighter against him, his mouth tracing a fiery trail across the top of her breast. He pulled her nipple into his mouth, sucking hard and then soothing with his tongue, until Jane dug her fingers into the muscles of his shoulders, her head falling back with a groan.

She ground her hips down against him, her thighs flexing around his, and he arched up, hot and hard against her.

His hands moved down, to the button at the front of her pants, and she returned the favor, but their hands were clumsy and they got in each other's way. Kurt grunted in frustration. "Lift up."

Jane rose up on her knees so he could shove her pants down, taking her panties with them, then did the same with his own. She pulled one leg free, kicking the confining fabric away, and then dropped her knee back beside his thigh, holding herself poised above him.

Kurt held her still then, his gaze traveling down her body as thoroughly and as heavy as any physical touch, and she shivered under his perusal. "God, you're beautiful," he said, his voice low and guttural.

She splayed her fingers across his chest, watching as his muscles leapt at her touch. "So are you," she whispered.

He smoothed his hands down her sides, over her hips and down her thighs. And then back up, dragging his thumbs along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, dipping slowly into the damp recess where she craved his touch the most.

She moaned and swayed against him. And then she dragged the palms of her hands slowly down his chest, over his stomach, following the narrowing line of hair, as he stilled and his breathing grew harsh and ragged, until she could wrap her hand against the long, hot, hard length of him.

He looked up at her, his eyes glittering. "Jane," he rasped, and then exhaled in a sharp gust as she tightened her grip. "I don't have—We need—"

She swallowed, forcing her mouth to form words. "It's okay. I have an implant." Patterson had found it, when she'd first come to the FBI, but Jane had never been so grateful for it as she was at that moment.

And then she lowered herself, slowly, and took him inside her. His hands gripped her hips, but he let her control the speed, let her move slowly down until they were fully joined, as deeply connected as they could be.

 _This_. This was where she was meant to be. In every memory she had in the empty library that was her mind, she'd never felt such a strong sense of belonging as she did here, joined so intimately with Kurt. She felt a hot rush of tears in the corners of her eyes, but she swallowed and blinked them back.

He saw, of course. Or maybe he just knew, as he always did. "Jane?" Concern darkened his eyes, and a muscle clenched in his jaw. He cupped her cheek, stroking his thumb along her cheekbone, searching her face.

She closed her eyes and turned her face into his palm, pressing a soft kiss to the flesh at the base of his thumb. "I'm okay. It's just…" She opened her eyes then and looked deep into his. "It's good."

He nodded, never breaking eye contact. " _God_ , it's good." He leaned forward so he could kiss her. Softly. Reverently. He held her, cupping her face with one hand, the other smoothing up the ridge of her spine, as though she were something precious, something very dear to him.

She shifted her weight, arching into his embrace, moving against him, and he drew in his breath.

She did it again.

He groaned. "You're going to kill me," he muttered.

She grinned wickedly at him, tears burned away by the fire inside, and braced her hands on his shoulders as she moved against him.

His hands gripped her hips, but he allowed her to control the pace. When she moved, he moved with her, surging up against her as she pressed herself down. Drawing apart and then pulled together by a force neither one could deny.

She made a noise deep in her throat, or maybe it was him, she didn't know anymore where she stopped and he began.

And then without any warning, the world exploded and her whole body convulsed, tremors emanating from deep within her body and rippling outwards through her trembling limbs.

He took over then, hands tight on her hips, groaning as the clenching of her muscles drew him along after her. He arched up against her, and cried her name in a harsh, guttural shout.

It was a long time later before Jane could move. She was slumped against him, her lips pressed to his shoulder. His arms were wrapped around her, one hand stroking her spine, the other cupping the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair.

"Mmmm." She pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

He gave a small grunt and kissed her just above her ear. "You okay?"

She smiled against his skin. "Mmmm-hmmmm." She kissed him again and added, "Can't move."

"Me neither." He nuzzled his face into her hair, his breath warm on her scalp.

She closed her eyes again, and simply savored the feeling of lazy contentment, the sense of peace she'd never known before.

He brushed his hand up her spine, pausing when he felt the tiny bumps of gooseflesh under the pads of his fingertips. "You're cold."

"Nuh-uh." The skin that was touching his was still warm. And she really didn't want to move. Ever.

He chuckled. "As fond as I am of this sofa now, my bed is much more comfortable."

She was pretty sure nothing could be more comfortable than his shoulder, but as long as they were going to be curled up together somewhere, his bed would do.

"Come on."

She grumbled but slid bonelessly off him, wobbling a bit as they both rose. He caught her by the waist and steadied her.

"Okay?" He kissed her temple.

She smiled at him and nodded.

She used her bathroom and brushed her teeth, then pulled on a t-shirt and panties in her room. Her clothes were still wherever they'd landed in the living room, and she wasn't about to go hunting for them now.

She crossed to the door to his room, and then paused awkwardly in the doorway. She'd walked by the door to his room, but she'd never been inside before. Their relationship had changed, and they already lived together, but she wasn't sure if they were "living together" living together now, and she had no idea how to ask.

The bathroom door opened and Kurt came out, wearing only a pair of plaid boxers. His face lit up when he saw her there. He folded back the blanket and sheet for her and then walked around to climb in on the other side.

She climbed in beside him, curling up on her side to face him.

He turned off the light and then reached out for her in the darkness. "Where are you? Come here."

She scooted into his arms, letting out a tiny sigh of relief as he pulled her close and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "You feel good," he mumbled sleepily.

"So do you." She tucked her head beneath his chin and relaxed into the warmth of his embrace.

 _I love you_ , she thought hazily. But she didn't say anything. This—whatever this was between them—was too new, too fragile. He'd proposed to her out of kindness. Coming together like this was… comfortable. Convenient, even. But it didn't mean that anything had changed as far as their future was concerned. It was… practical to sleep with the person you were married to. But she wasn't naïve enough to think that sex was the same thing as a lifetime commitment.

 _Take what you have and enjoy the moment_ , warned the voice in the back her head. And she would. Just because he might not love her didn't mean that she couldn't love _him_ just as long as she could.

She nestled closer and closed her eyes.

It wasn't until she was nearly asleep, that the thought came to her, in the way things from your subconscious pop up once you've moved on to thinking about something else entirely. She hadn't thought about her tattoos once all night. Not to feel self-conscious or unattractive or anything at all. And she'd hold the expression on Kurt's face in her memory and her heart forever. He certainly thought her body was beautiful. And in his arms, she _felt_ beautiful. And cared for.

Maybe even loved.


	16. Chapter 16

So no, I'm not actually dead. Had a bit of writer's block, courtesy of a bad head cold and then watching my country get flushed down the toilet. And it turns out that it's surprisingly hard to get excited about writing Christmas scenes in late January. (Must remind myself to never, ever do that again.) So here's a wee bit of fluff before we get back into angst and plot...

* * *

Jane awoke slowly and found herself sleeping on Kurt for the second time in her life.

She was sprawled across him, her face snuggled against his chest, held securely against his heart by his hand tangled in her hair and cupping the back of her head. His other hand rested in the small of her back. Her shirt had ridden up during the night, and his palm was warm against her skin.

She'd never wanted to get up less.

A large thumb stroked the bony knobs of her spine, and she lifted her head slightly to look into Kurt's blue eyes. He was frowning, and her heart dropped.

"We should get up," she mumbled, trying to pull away, but the hands holding her tightened.

"I don't want to." His voice was rough with sleep, more of a rumble in his chest than actual speech. He lifted his head to kiss her on the forehead.

She risked another look at his face. He was smiling, but the frown lines on his forehead remained.

She inhaled and drew her courage around her like a metaphorical blanket. If he was regretting last night, she needed to know. She touched the wrinkle in his brow. "What's wrong?"

He turned his head to press a kiss to her wrist. "I hate the idea of using you—and Roman—to draw out Shepherd."

The knot in her chest loosened a little. "We don't have a choice."

"I hate not having choices," he growled.

So did she. She finally had a place where she wanted to stay, and every fiber of her body rebelled at the idea of risking it. But the sooner they did, the sooner that Roman would be safe.

"We should get up," she said again.

"That _is_ a choice we have. I say we stay here." Kurt's hand slid up between her shoulder blades, pulling her closer so he could press his lips to hers.

Passion flared, hot and needy, and by the time they came up for air, Jane was breathless.

"We'll be late." Her voice was little more than a whisper, lacking any conviction whatsoever.

"Okay," said her workaholic, never late-to-the-office husband. Before she could draw a breath, he rolled them over, pinning her beneath him. His lips traced a fiery path down her neck to the spot he'd discovered the night before.

Jane couldn't hold back the small moan that escaped, and her arms reached up to pull him closer, seemingly of their own volition.

They could just skip breakfast, after all.

###

Everything had changed, and nothing had changed.

They were still no closer to finding Shepherd. Jane and Roman had gone through the entire tattoo database—twice—but still hadn't found anything that triggered any memories in either one of them. Patterson ran search after search, but found no patterns or clues or any leads they could use. Nas was short-tempered, her frustration evident—particularly with Jane and Roman—and Jane felt like she was walking on eggshells around the NSA agent most of the time.

At work, she and Kurt continued to walk a delicate line, balanced between just enough affection to convince the NYO as a whole that they had married for love, yet not so demonstrative so as to announce the change in their relationship to their team.

And then the work day ended, and she and Kurt went home. And the nights… oh, the nights.

It wasn't just the sex, although the sex was amazing. But it was also falling asleep held so securely in his arms. She hadn't had a single nightmare since they'd started sleeping together. She woke up in the morning feeling safe and secure and well-rested… even if she hadn't fallen asleep all that early. They finished their Christmas shopping, and then they bought the biggest tree they could cram into Kurt's living room. (The star nearly brushed the ceiling, and that was after they'd done a bit of whittling to the top of the tree.) They saw the new Star Wars movie, _Rogue One_ , and Kurt held her when she cried on his shoulder at the end. They watched kids' Christmas specials, cuddled up on the sofa.

Both of them were careful not to put any label on what they were. But Jane had never been happier—even in her old life, she knew with a bone-deep certainty.

Sarah and Sawyer arrived three days before Christmas, bringing with them a pile of gifts and the chaos that a gathered family generated. Sawyer was eager to catch up with his friends, so they were in and out of the apartment, but Christmas Eve found the four of them enjoying a quiet dinner at home.

Jane leaned back in her seat, listening to Sawyer talk animatedly about his favorite video game to Kurt. She knew she should get up and start clearing the table, but she'd eaten too much and now she felt too lazy to move.

Sarah looked over at her and rolled her eyes toward the boys, and Jane stifled a grin. Sarah teased both Kurt and Sawyer—but especially her brother—mercilessly. He bore it with good grace but returned the favor whenever possible. Jane loved their relationship and wondered wistfully if she and Roman would ever be that relaxed around each other.

Pushing away that melancholy thought, she stood, picking up her plate and Kurt's and carrying them into the kitchen.

Sarah followed her with her own plate and Sawyer's. "Once he gets going, he won't stop," she muttered to Jane as she set them in the sink. "Kurt's going to end up playing Minecraft with him all night."

Jane wasn't entirely sure he'd mind. Kurt's inner ten-year-old seemed pretty happy to come out and play with Sawyer. She rinsed off the plates and loaded them into the dishwasher.

A serving plate appeared in front of her, and she reached for it automatically, blinking in surprise when she realized it was Kurt who was handing it to her instead of Sarah.

"I'll wash, you dry?" he asked.

"Uncle Kurt, can you play now?" called Sawyer from the sofa, where he was brandishing his ipad.

"Hang on, buddy, I have to help with the dishes," Kurt called back.

"Mom can help Aunt Jane, can't you, Mom?"

 _Aunt Jane_. Jane couldn't suppress her smile. Sawyer had caught her off guard with his easy acceptance of her new role in his life.

"Go play," Jane told Kurt. "There's not that much."

"You sure?" he asked, resting a hand on the small of her back.

She just rolled her eyes at him. He leaned in and spoke into her ear in a low voice, almost drowned out by the running water. "I'll make it up to you later." He pressed a quick kiss to her lips, gave her waist a squeeze, and headed back into the living room, sneaking a Christmas cookie off the plate on the counter on his way past.

"I saw that," yelled Sarah after him, tactfully ignoring the blush on Jane's cheeks.

He smiled innocently and then ruined the effect by chewing.

Sarah shook her head and grabbed a towel. "I'll dry."

The two women worked in silence for a minute, and then Sarah said, "Thanks for having us for Christmas."

Jane looked over at her in surprise. "This was your home. Of course you should be here."

Sarah shrugged. "It _was_ my home, but it's your home now. And it's your first Christmas together. I mean… you're practically still on your honeymoon. I would have understood if you hadn't wanted a sister-in-law and nephew underfoot."

Jane turned away from the sink to face the other woman. "You're family," she said firmly. "You're always welcome here."

Sarah tilted her head to one side. "I'm glad for that," she said. "I mean, for both, but especially the family bit."

Jane looked down at the soapy water and drew a deep breath. "Thank you," she said, "for making me feel welcome in your family."

"I wasn't quite sure what to think," admitted Sarah slowly, carefully drying a wine glass, "when you guys ran off and got married so quick. I thought maybe you were pregnant."

Jane couldn't quite stifle her startled laugh.

Sarah laughed too. "Yeah, I figured that wasn't right as soon as I saw Kurt pouring you a glass of wine."

"And there's, uh, Allie…" Jane said awkwardly.

"Yeah, there's that." Sarah grimaced. "I'm sorry, that has to be hard, Jane."

Jane just shrugged. She didn't know how to feel about the baby anymore. She knew Kurt was worried about his impending fatherhood, but aside from attending one prenatal appointment with Allie, he hadn't mentioned it much. When the time came—and assuming she was still here—she supposed she could learn how to change diapers too.

"I owe you another apology, too," said Sarah in a lower voice.

Jane looked up in surprise.

Sarah was looking down, fiddling with the towel in her hand. "I was really angry at you for a long time. I knew Kurt had feelings for you, and I know something happened between you two. But it was a really awful time with Dad… and Kurt was such a mess… and I blamed you. I said some not very nice things about you when Kurt told me you were back, and I'm sorry."

Jane chose her words with care. "Kurt never said anything to me. I was, uh, pretty angry with him for a long time, too. He told me I was Taylor, and I thought that I was. And when I found out I wasn't…" _And he arrested me and sent me to the CIA…_ "I wasn't very nice to him, either." Pointing a gun at someone and trying to kill them could be summarized as _not very nice_ , right?

Sarah was regarding her curiously. "But you sorted it out. I'm glad."

Jane gave her a genuine smile. "Me too."

"Anyway, maybe someday you guys will tell me why you ran off and got married on a Tuesday."

Jane washed a saucepan with far more care than needed. "Kurt didn't say anything to you about why…" She didn't want to lie to Sarah, but Kurt had been pretty emphatic that he wasn't going to tell his sister the truth about their marriage.

Sarah snorted. "Of course not. And I guess it doesn't really matter."

"It doesn't?"

"Why should it?" Sarah regarded her steadily. "My brother married a girl he's crazy about, who is obviously crazy about him. That's the important part, right?"

Jane could only nod. She _was_ crazy about him, after all; that much was true. And Kurt certainly liked her well enough, even if he wasn't in love with her. When they split up, Sarah would doubtlessly blame her for the divorce.

And not only would she lose Kurt, she'd lose her new sister and her nephew. Never celebrate another Christmas with this family.

She shoved the painful thought away. _You always knew how this was going to end_ , she reminded herself forcefully. "Yeah, that's the important part."

"Besides," said Sarah, "whatever it was just an excuse. You know my brother. No one can force him to do anything he doesn't want to do. So whatever excuse he came up with was just that—an excuse to do what he wanted to do anyway."

Jane stared at Kurt's sister. She knew she was right; Kurt was far too stubborn to do anything he didn't want to do. But somehow she'd never considered that her situation might have given him an _excuse_ to marry her. Because that would mean that marrying her was something he'd actually _wanted_ to do.

"Are you guys done? I talked Sawyer into watching _A Christmas Story_." Kurt leaned against the breakfast counter, a wrinkle in his forehead as he studied Jane's face.

She looked up at him, and she couldn't stop the smile that spread across her face at her thoughts.

"You still have the DVD?" asked Sarah.

"It's already set up and ready to go." He nodded at the television as he deftly snagged two more cookies off the platter.

"Hey!" His sister swatted at his hand. "There won't be any left for tomorrow."

He smiled innocently. "This one's for Jane." He leaned across the counter, holding it out for her to take a bite.

Sarah just harrumphed. "He's your problem now," she muttered at Jane.

Jane chewed her cookie and grinned. Of all the problems she'd had in her life, Kurt Weller was far and away the best.


	17. Chapter 17

Christmas Day was long and lazy. Sawyer dragged Sarah out of bed early, and the ensuing commotion in the living room awakened Jane and Kurt as well.

Sawyer was crawling around under the tree reading labels when Jane stumbled blearily over to the sofa and sat down, wrapping herself in the throw blanket.

"Here." Kurt placed a cup of coffee in her hands and sat down beside her, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her into his side.

"Thanks," she mumbled into the mug. "What time is it?"

He squinted at the time on the cable television box. "Seven-thirty?"

Given that she usually awoke at the crack of dawn, it was practically decadently late. But she and Kurt and Sarah had sat up watching movies last night, and then Kurt had kept her awake even later…

"This one's for Uncle Kurt." Sawyer backed out from under the tree and handed his uncle a gift. "And this one's for you, Mom… And Aunt Jane…." He went down the line until everyone had something to open.

Jane just held onto her gift as the others ripped into theirs. Sawyer immediately went into raptures over a new videogame for his Xbox.

Sarah frowned over his head at Kurt. "That had better not be too violent," she muttered.

"It's not," he assured her. "I think," he mumbled, so quietly that only Jane heard.

Jane stifled a grin.

Sarah unwrapped a high-powered battery lantern and dissolved into a fit of giggles. "Thank you, Kurt."

He grinned at his sister. "Right after she moved, the power went out at her new place," he explained to Jane. "She called to complain to me that she didn't have any flashlights."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "I wasn't calling to complain, just to tell you that you should be glad that I didn't take any of your flashlights with me!"

Sawyer nodded solemnly. "It's okay, Uncle Kurt, we had some candles."

"Open yours," Sarah demanded, looking at Jane and Kurt.

Jane peeled back the paper obediently. Inside the box was a gorgeous scarf, knit in a soft, dark green yarn with hints of gold. She picked it up and rubbed it against her cheek, closing her eyes at the soft texture.

"Do you like it?" asked Sarah hopefully.

"It's gorgeous," Jane assured her, running her hands over the intricate stitches.

"The yarn is a cashmere and merino blend. The color made me think of you."

"Did you _make_ this?" Jane stared at it with new wonder.

Kurt held up the contents of his box, a pair of socks with gray stripes. "Sarah knits when she watches tv. She also watches way too much tv."

Sarah stuck her tongue out at him and pretended to grab his socks back. "Hmmph! No more socks for you!"

Jane hugged her scarf tightly. "I think it's awesome. I wish I could knit," she added wistfully.

"It's easy." Sarah waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "I'll teach you."

"Really?" Jane knew she probably looked as excited as Sawyer, but she didn't care.

"I have extra needles and yarn in my bag," Sarah told her. "We'll get started after breakfast."

Kurt smiled at Jane and leaned over to kiss her cheek. "Finally," he teased, "something you can't do. Yet."

Bored with adult conversation, Sawyer was pulling more gifts out from under the tree and thrusting them at the recipients, and soon the room was littered with torn and crumpled bits of wrapping paper.

Jane unwrapped a gift from Kurt that turned out to be gorgeous wooden box stocked with all manner of art supplies: oil and watercolor paints, paintbrushes, pastels, charcoals, colored pencils. The lid of the box was hinged to function as an easel. She stared at all the supplies in wonder.

"I know you only use pencils in your sketchbook," he told her, watching her face as she examined the contents of the box. "But you're obviously talented, and I thought you might want to try some other mediums—"

She cut him off as she threw one arm around him, still clutching the box with her other arm. "I love it," she whispered into his neck. "Thank you."

He hugged her back. "I'm glad," he said, with obvious relief, and Jane wanted to laugh. Had he really thought she wouldn't love such a thoughtful gift?

"Which kind of reminds me…" She drew back a little and nodded at the still-wrapped package resting in his lap. "You haven't opened that one yet."

He looked at her curiously, but let her pull far enough away so he could use both hands to unwrap the box. He raised the lid and pulled back the tissue paper and stopped.

Jane hugged the box of art supplies and held her breath.

On his other side, Sarah peered curiously into the box. Her eyes widened and her mouth rounded into an "O" of surprise.

Glancing from his mom to his uncle, Sawyer leaned over to look. "Hey! That's us, Mom!"

Kurt lifted the framed sketch out of the box, one finger tracing the outline of Sawyer's curls. Jane had sketched Sarah and Sawyer playing cards at Kurt's kitchen table, half from memory, half from the framed pictures hanging around the apartment. Sawyer was laughing and Sarah was smiling, looking at her son with love and pride.

"Yes, it is," replied Sarah faintly. "Did you _draw_ that, Jane?"

Jane nodded.

"Wow. You're _good_ , Aunt Jane," said Sawyer, suitably impressed. "How come you work with Uncle Kurt instead of being an artist?"

Jane smiled at him, glad to focus on him instead of Kurt, who still hadn't said anything. "I don't think I ever had any art classes," she told Sawyer. "I just like to draw pictures. But—" she glanced at her husband, "—now that I have all these fancy art supplies, I can see if I'm any good with other mediums."

Kurt finally seemed to rouse himself from his stupor. Setting the frame carefully back in his lap he turned toward Jane. She caught just a glimpse of his suspiciously bright eyes as he pulled her into his embrace.

"So you like it?" she asked, her words muffled into his shoulder.

"I _love_ it," he corrected her in a hoarse voice, hugging her tighter. "It's the best gift anyone has ever given me."

She didn't believe that, but it still warmed something inside of her that she'd found _something_ special to give him. She'd worked on it in secret, stealing moments at the office or rare moments at home when Kurt wasn't around.

He pulled back far enough to give her a kiss. "Thank you, Jane."

"You're welcome."

Sarah was still studying the picture. "And you thought _knitting_ was impressive?" she muttered.

They made their way through the rest of the gifts, and then Sarah and Sawyer cleaned up the wrapping paper while Kurt and Jane adjourned to the kitchen to cook breakfast. Kurt had promised Sawyer chocolate chip pancakes, with blueberry pancakes for the adults. But he correctly interpreted Jane's longing look and dropped two chocolate chip ones on her plate, too, with a grin. Sawyer demolished most of a pound of bacon singlehandedly, despite his mother's amused protests.

"Growth spurt," she said with a sigh. At Jane's quizzical look, she added, "I'll be buying him new pants next week, when these are too short and too tight."

Sawyer just shrugged and demolished the rest of his stack of pancakes, while his uncle quietly swiped the last slice of bacon off the platter and deposited it on Jane's plate.

She rolled her eyes at him as she stuck it in her mouth. It was Christmas, it was bacon, and she could complain about him overfeeding her later.

After breakfast, Jane went off to shower and dress. She paused in front of the closet, her meager wardrobe now occupying one end of the master bedroom closet. It was an oddly cozy thing, seeing her shirts hanging alongside Kurt's. She reached for the shirt she'd planned to wear and then hesitated. They weren't going anywhere, and she didn't think Sarah planned to dress up… and the guys certainly wouldn't. Her hand drifted to over the hanger that held the green dress she'd worn the day they got married. How many opportunities would she get to wear it, anyway? She pulled it over her head before she could dwell on it any more.

Kurt came into the bedroom just as she rose from the edge of bed where she'd been zipping up her boots.

"Wow." He closed the door behind him and leaned back against it. "You look amazing."

She couldn't suppress the pleased blush that heated her cheeks. "Thanks."

He didn't move, just kept staring at her, much as he had the day they'd gotten married.

She swallowed and tucked her hair behind her ear, and the action seemed to startle him into movement.

"I have something else for you." He pulled away from the door to cross the dresser. From the top drawer, he extracted a small, wrapped box, which he held out to her.

It was a little larger than the palm of her hand, about the size of… She pulled away the paper to reveal a small jewelry box and sucked in her breath. The box was the size of the necklace that Kurt had given her, Taylor's necklace, and she swallowed simultaneous feelings of loss and dread.

"Open it," Kurt said softly when she just looked at the box. "It's okay."

She drew a deep, steadying breath and found the courage to open the box.

It _was_ a necklace, but it looked nothing like the one he'd given her before. From a fine gold chain hung a deep green stone, a hexagonal prism, wrapped in delicate gold wire.

It was beautiful.

"It's a raw emerald," Kurt told her when she didn't say anything. "I saw some cut ones that were pretty, but this was more… unusual. It made me think of you."

She reached out one trembling fingertip to touch the pendant.

"I wanted you to have a necklace that was just yours," he said quietly.

Just hers. Not something intended for Taylor, something she'd stolen just as much as she'd stolen the girl's identity.

And in that moment, she realized: _He'd forgiven her._

She'd known, obviously, that he wasn't angry at her any more. She doubted that he'd have been willing to marry her if he didn't trust her at least a little bit. But they had never really talked about it, and she realized now that she'd intentionally avoided such a conversation, afraid of what she'd learn.

There was no greater gift he could have given her.

She pressed her lips together and tried not to cry.

"If you don't like it, I can take it back. You can pick out something you'd like better." He spoke quickly, nervously into the growing silence.

She curled her hand protectively around the box, and the tears spilled over.

"I love it," she told him, and took a step forward so she could wrap her free arm around his neck and hug him fiercely, the box in her other hand clutched to her heart.

"You do?" He mumbled the words against her hair as his arms wrapped around her and squeezed her tight. "I didn't—I haven't bought much jewelry. If you don't like it—"

"Hush," she said and kissed him.

"So you like it then?" he asked when they finally drew apart.

"I love it," she assured him. She sniffed and blinked the rest of her tears away.

He cupped her cheek in one hand and brushed the dampness from her lower lashes with his thumb.

"Help me put it on?"

He took the box from her and removed the delicate chain. He draped the necklace around her neck and fastened the clasp at the nape of her neck.

She turned back to face him, touching the emerald lightly with her fingertips. "How does it look?"

"Almost as pretty as you."

She laughed at that and leaned in for another kiss, which quickly grew more heated.

Kurt drew back reluctantly. "I need to get a shower. Roman will be here soon."

At the reminder that he'd arranged to have her brother spend the day with him—giving his security detail the day free to spend with their families—Jane leaned in to give him another quick kiss. "Thank you for _all_ of my gifts."

He touched her cheek, his fingertips warm and gentle. "Merry Christmas, Jane."


	18. Chapter 18

Roman arrived right at eleven. Jane let him into the apartment and gave him a hug.

He squeezed her back, then followed her into the apartment with only a slight hesitation.

"Roman." Kurt greeted him with a firm handshake. "Merry Christmas." He gestured toward Sarah and Sawyer. "This is my sister, Sarah, and my nephew, Sawyer."

Sarah held out her hand with a friendly smile. "It's nice to finally meet you, Roman."

He nodded awkwardly as he shook her hand.

Sawyer regarded him with a little more suspicion. "You're my Uncle Roman now."

Caught off guard, Roman's gaze flew to Jane, a touch of panic in his eyes, and then back to Sawyer. "Yeah, I guess I am."

Sawyer nodded. "Do you play Xbox?"

Roman blinked.

"Video games," Sarah explained.

"Um, yeah. I guess."

"It's okay, I can teach you." Sawyer headed back to the sofa, trailed by his new uncle with a slightly bemused look upon his face.

Kurt and Jane exchanged glances. He cocked an eyebrow, and Jane lifted one shoulder in a tiny shrug.

"I'm going to go fix some snacks," Sarah announced and headed into the kitchen.

With a last shared smile, Kurt went off to join the boys on the sofa and Jane went to the kitchen counter, where Sarah was amassing enough food to feed a small army.

She grinned when she saw Jane's wide eyes. "Late breakfast, early dinner, heavy snacks in between. Kurt does the meals, so I do the snacks."

"Seems about right," called her brother.

Sarah stuck out her tongue. "Hey, I bought veggies." She set the plastic tray down on the counter, then placed three different containers of spreads and dips beside it. "Here," she handed two boxes of crackers to Jane and pointed to a plate. "Get some of those out, while I slice cheese."

Once the counter was filled with things to munch on, Sarah came around to the table and plunked down a pair of bamboo knitting needles and a skein of blue yarn. "You ready?"

Jane nibbled on a celery stick and took the seat beside her.

By late afternoon, they'd eaten a surprising amount of the snacks Sarah had put out, and Jane had made a good start on a slightly wonky-looking scarf. Over on the sofa, Roman had apparently managed to find iron and craft a pickaxe and a sword, the latter of which he was employing to help Sawyer and Kurt kill zombies. Jane had no idea what his FBI shrink would say about it, but all three males seemed pretty happy about the state of their digital world, so she was just going to go with it.

"I like your necklace," said Sarah suddenly.

Jane's hand reached up reflexively to touch it. And her gaze moved up to meet Kurt's, who had risen from the sofa to head toward the kitchen.

"Thanks," Jane said softly, eyes still on Kurt. "Your brother has great taste."

"Not as good as my taste in wives." He put his hand on her shoulder and gave her a quick squeeze on his way past.

She reached up to put her hand over his, tilting her head back to look up at him. "Maybe I have good taste in husbands."

He leaned over until his face was only a few inches from hers. "Your taste is absolutely terrible," he informed her. He dropped a too-brief kiss on her lips and sauntered into the kitchen.

Sarah just rolled her eyes at his antics. "I have no idea how you convinced her to marry you," she called after her brother, "but if you're smart, you'll keep buying her jewelry so she doesn't come to her senses."

Roman had stopped playing and turned to watch their banter. He didn't smile, but there was a thoughtful look in his eye, and Jane wondered what he thought of them, of all of them—Sawyer and his videogames, Sarah and her teasing… and her and Kurt and their relationship, which was very different at home than from the way they interacted at the FBI.

In the kitchen, Kurt started pulling out saucepans.

"That's my cue to put away the snacks," Sarah muttered, pushing away from the table.

As if it had been an actual cue, Sawyer swooped in to grab a handful of crackers.

"You'll spoil your dinner," said his mother, but her words lacked any heat, so he just rolled his eyes and helped himself to the last of the cheese too.

Jane stood and gathered up her knitting, inordinately proud of the six inches of scarf she'd accomplished. She wound the loose yarn around the ball, tucked the scarf and the empty needle in beside it, and set it on a small bookshelf in the living room.

"Did you draw that?" asked Roman, coming to stand beside her. He nodded at the framed picture she'd given Kurt, which he had carefully placed on top of the shelf.

"Yeah." She tilted her head at him curiously. "How did you know?" She was sure she'd never worked on it around him.

He studied the picture, a crease between his eyebrows. "It just… looks like yours." His frown deepened, and she knew he was struggling to remember.

She touched his arm. "I got you something." She crossed to the Christmas tree and bent to retrieve the small package she'd placed under it before he arrived. "Here." She held it out to him.

He shot her an uncertain look as he took it, and she realized that it was probably the first time anyone had given him a gift that he could recall.

The first gift she could remember was Taylor's necklace, and her hand rose up unbidden to touch the one Kurt had given her that morning.

Roman's eyes tracked the gesture. "You seem… happy here." There was the faint hint of question beneath his statement. He glanced over at Kurt and then looked back at her.

"I am," she said simply.

He nodded. "I'm glad."

She wanted to tell him that he'd be happy eventually, too, but she knew she couldn't make that kind of promise to him. Not yet, at least. But she hoped with every fiber of her being that one day she could. "Open your present," she said instead.

He tore away the paper to reveal a leather-bound sketchbook, just like hers.

"When I was trying to make sense of my memories, it helped me a lot to sketch the things that I remembered. I thought it might help you, too."

He studied the book, running his finger along the spine. "My shrink suggested the same thing." He looked up then, a wry grin on his face. "If you're all going to gang up on me, I guess I should try it."

"You can use it as a journal if you'd prefer," she muttered. But she knew that he wouldn't. He was like her. They both saw things in pictures, not words.

His mouth widened into a genuine smile. "I was just kidding."

And somehow, having her brother there, teasing her a tiny bit, just like Kurt and Sarah teased each other, made her believe that it was possible for them both to come through this okay, to have a normal life, or something approaching it, when all was said and done.

She smiled back at him. "I know."

He reached into his pocket and drew out the 1-Rand coin. "You gave me this. When we were kids, I mean."

She nodded. It had been in his pocket when she'd zipped his memory, and she'd told him what it meant, how they'd exchanged it as a gift. "It was our good luck token."

"I remember. I had a dream, and… I remembered." His green eyes were shadowed, and she suspected it wasn't an easy memory.

None of them were.

She reached out and put her hand on his arm. There were no platitudes that could make anything about their childhood easier to understand or accept, so she just squeezed his arm to show that she understood.

He gave a small shake. "Anyway, I didn't get you a Christmas present, but maybe it's your turn to have this." He held the coin out to her.

She looked at it, sitting in the palm of his hand, and then she gently closed his fingers around it. "I think you should keep it."

She reached into the tiny pocket of her dress, designed more for decorative purpose than actual use. But it was large enough to hold the one thing that she carried with her wherever she went.

She opened up her palm to show him the penny. "I have a good luck charm too. A friend gave it to me when I got married."

Both siblings glanced over at Kurt, arguing good-naturedly with Sarah in the kitchen as he started preparations for dinner.

"It seems to be working then." The corner of Roman's mouth quirked up.

"So far, so good."

Roman looked at the coin in his hand and then tucked it back into his pocket. "Do you… remember things in dreams?"

"Sometimes."

"Are they… reliable?"

She pursed her lips and lifted one shoulder. "It's hard to tell." She thought of the dreams she'd had of Oscar, before she'd met him. "Sometimes they are."

He nodded. "I've been having the same dream lately. Almost every night."

If his words hadn't gotten her attention, his stillness would have. "What is it?"

He frowned, peering into a memory she couldn't see. "It's a woman. I'm sure it's Shepherd. She looks like the picture you drew of her."

Jane sucked in a breath. None of the memories that Roman had retrieved so far were very recent, and the psychologist he'd seen hadn't been able to help him recover anything about Shepherd's plans or Phase Two.

"She's angry, and she's arguing." His green eyes met hers then. "With Nas Kamal."

Jane stared at him. _It's just a dream,_ she told herself. It was probably just Roman's subconscious trying to make sense of the conflicts between his old self, carrying out Shepherd's plans, and his new self, working for the FBI. But she couldn't shake cold prickles that inched down her spine.

"It's very real." Roman's gaze never left hers. "I can see the room they're in. It's an office. There are no windows, just a desk and a table. Two laptops. I can see them, leaning across the table, but I can't hear what they're saying."

He believed it was real, she could tell by the set of his shoulders.

"Nas…" Jane hesitated. "She's always said that she doesn't know who Shepherd is." But Nas had also claimed that Keaton showing up at the NYO after the failed raid on Sandstorm was a coincidence, and Jane didn't believe that for a minute.

She drew in a long, thoughtful breath, then let it out even more slowly. "Don't say anything to anyone about it."

Roman shook his head. "I haven't."

"Good." She bit her lip and glanced toward the rest of her family, now gathered together in the kitchen. Kurt was putting Sawyer to work grating cheese, while Sarah was rinsing broccoli at the sink.

She looked back into her brother's eyes, exchanging a silent glance of understanding.

"We need to keep our eyes open."

He nodded.

They had to be careful.

She couldn't afford not to be. She had too much to lose.


	19. Chapter 19

_Hi, guys! Sorry for the long delay between chapters. Life's been crazy, and the next couple of chapters required a bit more plotting. More soon..._

* * *

It was the closing of the bedroom door that brought him fully awake.

Kurt stretched out his arm, but the space beside him was empty. A minute went by and then another, but Jane didn't return. He listened for a moment, but the apartment was silent, Sarah and Sawyer apparently still asleep.

Another minute ticked by.

The room was pitch black. He rolled over and reached for the phone on his nightstand. Just past three in the morning, too early even for Jane to get up.

Some sixth sense chimed an alarm inside, and he sat up. The room was cool, and he fumbled for a t-shirt to put on over his boxers.

He padded out into the living room, the room dark and still around him.

Jane was sitting on the sofa, illuminated only by the faint city lights glowing beyond the window.

He opened his mouth to speak, but something held him back.

She was so still that he might have thought she was asleep, had her posture not been so utterly rigid. Her shoulders were hunched with tension, her hands gripping her kneecaps so tightly they shone white even in the darkness. Only her chest moved slightly with each shallow breath.

She was absolutely silent.

He walked toward her, moving slowly and staying in front of her so he wouldn't startle her. And then he realized her face was wet with tears, though she wasn't exactly crying.

She was simply enduring, silent and alone.

He sucked in a breath and sank down on his knees in front of her.

He'd known that she had nightmares from the first night when she'd wanted to watch television. But she hadn't seemed to have any since they'd gotten married, and he knew she hadn't had any since they'd started sharing a bed. He'd thought that maybe they were gone, chased away by the knowledge that she was safe, that she wasn't alone.

He'd been so very wrong.

He raised his hands to put them over hers. Her fingers were ice cold.

"Jane," he whispered.

Her eyes were open and seemed to look right through him.

He squeezed her hands. "It's okay."

Her chin moved, too slight to be a nod, but acknowledging his presence.

He rubbed her knuckles, trying to warm her cold fingers and get them to relax. Trying to reach her in whatever darkness still trapped her.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so helpless.

"You're all right."

She turned her head then, and finally focused on him. The agonized look in her eyes struck him like a knife through his heart.

He leaned toward her, rubbing her back with one hand, trying to get her to relax.

And inch by painful inch, she slowly leaned forward, until her forehead rested against his collarbone.

His hand never stopped the slow strokes from her neck to her waist and back again as he murmured reassuringly to her, but even as she let him draw her in, the tension didn't leave her spine.

She felt small and fragile in his arms, and he was suddenly, violently angry at whatever had done this to his strong, fierce Jane.

But under the anger lurked the fear that it was somehow his fault. Whatever demons occupied her mind obviously terrified her. And given that she regularly faced down guns, bombs, and people intent on killing her without blinking an eye, this dream was clearly something worse… And the only time he'd ever seen her truly frightened had been when Keaton walked into the NYO.

He had no idea how long they sat like that. His knees grew stiff on the floor, but he held her close, his lips pressed to her temple, his hand stroking up and down her back.

He wracked his brain to try to figure out what might have triggered such a response. She'd been quiet during dinner, but he'd thought she was just tired. Nothing had seemed wrong when they went to bed. She'd thanked him for her gifts and for having Roman join them, and they'd drifted off wrapped around each other as they had every night before.

But something had invaded her dreams, driven her from their bed, and sent her out here in the cold, to suffer alone.

"Can you talk about it?" he whispered into her hair.

She inhaled a deep, shuddering breath, clearly trying to rein in the wild emotions still coursing through her. And then she moved, putting her hands on his chest and pushing him away, forcing herself upright again. "I'm okay."

He let her put some space between them, but kept his hands on her arms, stroking her shoulders with his thumbs. She wasn't anywhere close to _okay_. "And I'm here. You're not alone."

"I'm fine. I'm sorry I woke you." The words were strong, but her voice broke slightly at the end.

"Can you tell me about it?"

She couldn't hide the tremor that went through her, but she shook her head. "Just a bad dream."

He didn't let go of her. "Talk me to me, Jane. _Please_." His voice was rougher than he'd intended, but he couldn't bear the distant look in her eyes. _Let me in. You don't have to handle everything alone._

"I shouldn't be here."

He didn't know what _here_ meant. In his apartment? With him? His hands tightened on her shoulders. "Yes, you should. You belong here."

"No, I don't." Her words were defiant, but the look in her eyes was defeated. "My being here puts your whole family in danger."

She clearly meant Sarah and Sawyer.

" _You_ are my family too." He found her left hand in the dark and squeezed her fingers, rubbing his thumb over her wedding band.

Her lips curved up in a smile that lacked all humor. "Not really. Not for long."

He couldn't say what he wanted to say: _For as long as we both shall live._ It was the wrong time for this conversation. Everything between them was still too new, too unsettled. And she was too used to being on her own, to not being able to depend on anyone except herself. She needed time, time to accept that she had a future, that they could have a future together. That she could lean on him and he wouldn't let her down.

So he bit back all those words and said only, "For as long as you want to be."

Her eyes searched his, looking for what, he didn't know. But then her fingers curled around his. "Thank you."

His hand tightened around hers. "I'm not going to let anything happen to _anyone_ I care about. That includes you, and it includes your brother."

That startled her. "Roman?"

"You care about him, and I care about you. So I can't let anything happen to him either."

The defeated look was back. "You can't protect Roman, and you can't protect me. We're the only weapons you have against Shepherd right now."

"You're not weapons. You're my family." She was stubborn, but so was he. "I protect what's mine."

As he'd expected, a spark of fire glinted in her eyes. "Yours?"

"Mine." He gave in to the demands of his aching knees and stood up, pulling her up with him. "And right now, my wife is cold, and so am I."

She let him lead her back into their room and tuck them both into bed.

It was warmer there, with her nestled securely against his chest, but the darkness was also intimate and made conversation easier. And nightmares lost much of their power once they were exposed.

"Can you tell me what you dreamed?" he asked again.

He heard her indrawn breath, and then her sigh as she exhaled.

"Was it about Sarah and Sawyer?"

Her chest rose and fell, and then she spoke. "Yes. Shepherd had them. It was like when she wanted me to watch her blow up the house with the team inside. Only this time… she was going to kill them."

He forced himself to stay still, to not react to the horrific picture she'd painted. He hugged her close and kissed her forehead. "They're both safe, and in 48 hours they'll be on their way back to Portland. I'll have the office out there put a detail on them, just until we get Shepherd."

The reassurance was as much for himself as it was for her, but he felt her spine give as she finally relaxed fully against him.

He rubbed her back, slowly, in the way he knew that she liked, and listened as her breathing slowed. "It's just a dream, I know," he murmured. "But next time, wake me, please?"

He thought she might have fallen asleep, but then she said softly, "I will."

He finally allowed himself to relax, as lulled by her warmth and closeness as she was his.

"Kurt?" Her voice came hesitantly out of the darkness.

"Mmmm?"

"Roman's been having nightmares, too. Or rather, the same one, over and over."

Something about the tone of her voice brought him alert in the darkness. "Did he tell you what it was?"

Her cheek rubbed against his shoulder as she nodded. "It's Shepherd, and she's having an argument. With…" He heard her swallow. "With Nas."

It was just a dream. But it was enough that Roman had mentioned it to Jane, and she felt it was significant enough to tell him.

"Sometimes my memories come back to me as dreams. And sometimes they're just… dreams. And I usually don't know which they are until much later."

"This one's probably just a dream," he said.

"Probably," she agreed.

But it was a long time before her breathing settled into the slow refrain of sleep.

And even longer before his followed.


	20. Chapter 20

Pellington showed up at the NYO the Friday before New Year's Eve.

"Was this a planned visit?" asked Roman, keeping his voice pitched low and his eyes focused on the computer screen in front of him.

Jane tried not to look at the two men visible through the window of Kurt's office. "I don't think so. Kurt didn't mention it." And he didn't look very happy about it, she noted, judging by the tense set of his shoulders as he and Pellington faced off across his desk.

Roman gave a faint, imperceptible nod. He studied the portion of a tattoo visible on the computer screen for a moment, and then said quietly, "I'm running out of time, aren't I?"

Jane turned to face him. "What do you mean?"

Her brother kept his gaze fixed on the screen in front of him. "Pellington made it quite clear when you brought me in here that I had to earn my freedom. I haven't produced any useful intel. How long until they lock me away and throw away the key?"

She put her hand on his arm. "I am _not_ going to let that happen. And neither is Kurt."

The look he gave her was equal parts affectionate and exasperated. "There's only so much you can do. Pellington holds all the cards. I know that."

Jane swallowed down the panic his words sparked. "Then we need to get to work. Find something useful that will help build your case." What she wanted was to get him out in the field with her, but so far that hadn't been an option. She hadn't recovered any useful memories staring at the walls of her safe house, and she doubted that Roman would either.

She stole another glance at Kurt's office. He was shaking his head at whatever Pellington was saying, and she could tell even from this far away that he was angry.

Icy dread congealed in the pit of her stomach. Much as she hated to admit it, there was a good chance that Roman was right. Pellington had wanted her out of the FBI after the Sandstorm explosion, but Kurt had gone to bat for her and argued vehemently that there was no way that she could have known that she was being used to lead the FBI into a trap. By marrying her, he'd made it a lot harder for Pellington to send her away, but Roman had no such protection. Guilt and helplessness swirled inside of her.

"Let's go back to the last one," Roman said, reaching for the mouse. "The shapes look familiar. I'm going to try sketching them, see if that jogs anything." He opened the sketchbook she'd given him for Christmas and flipped to a clean page. Jane wasn't surprised to see the number of pages he'd already filled. When she'd first come to the FBI she'd spent any time she wasn't out in the field—and more than a few sleepless nights—filling the pages of her sketchbook with tattoos and the tiny fragments of memories that flitted through her subconscious like dust motes in a sunbeam.

She scooted her chair over to the adjacent workstation. She'd been combing through some of their past cases, looking for connections between them and Sandstorm. Chemical weapons, illegal arms deals… Sandstorm had to get their weapons somewhere, and it wasn't through legal channels, so if they could just find something that would point them in the right direction…

She was doing a pretty good job of concentrating on the file in front of her—and not looking at Kurt's office—when her phone buzzed a little while later.

"Come on." She tapped her brother on the shoulder. "Patterson found something."

He closed the sketchbook and followed her into Patterson's lab.

Reade, Tasha, and Nas were already there. Tasha's glance flickered from Roman to Nas, but neither woman said anything. Jane braced herself, prepared to argue if they didn't want Roman there. He couldn't contribute anything if he wasn't allowed to be part of the team.

The door opened again, and Kurt strode in, followed by Pellington, who took up residence by the door. He crossed his arms and scowled at the room, the wrinkle between his brows deepening when his gaze passed over Jane and Roman.

"What do you have, Patterson?" Kurt asked, stopping beside Nas, on the other side of Patterson's work table. His eyes met Jane's briefly, and he gave her a tiny nod, approving of Roman's presence.

Patterson looked up from her tablet, a slightly manic gleam in her blue eyes. "I think I might know where Shepherd is."

The whole room went still.

"I went back to the beginning. Or at least, to the night Jane met Shepherd." She tapped on her screen, and security footage around the Unisphere blanketed the screens behind her. A black sedan was frozen on the screen. "Look at the tires." She pointed to the image on the monitor behind her. Without waiting for anyone to respond, she continued, "They're rated for a much heavier vehicle than this."

"Armored," said Reade, catching on. "Not unusual."

"No, not for someone like Shepherd," agreed Patterson absently, tapping on her tablet. "But here's the thing: It's a newer American make and model. Armor isn't a factory option. There aren't that many companies in the US that do that, and they're pretty closely monitored for obvious reasons. I was able to get a list of VIN numbers of vehicles that match that make and model." A list appeared on one of the monitors.

"How does this help us find Shepherd?" interrupted Weller with an impatient wave of his hand. "They change license plates like people change clothes."

"Well, that's where a bit of luck helped us." Patterson looked up from her tablet. "There's a security hole in the on-board navigation system in that particular model. Basically, if you turn it off, it can be re-enabled remotely. It hasn't been publicized, and the manufacturer hasn't fixed it yet, either." A few more taps and a map of New York appeared on the screen behind her. "Obviously, Shepherd and her crew are going to disable the GPS so they can't be tracked. And they probably scan their vehicles routinely, so I can't enable the GPS and leave it on. But I can enable it long enough to grab its position and then disable it again. It takes less than a minute. As long as they aren't scanning the vehicle at that exact moment, they won't notice. So I set up a program to enable and disable the GPS at irregular intervals, and I was able to get a good idea of the movement patterns of the vehicles that match our specs."

She looked down at the tablet and moved her hand across the screen. On the monitor behind her, a series of colored dots appeared on the map. "We know that Shepherd is active in and around New York. That narrows it down to seven vehicles. Three of them seem to be mostly for diplomatic use, traveling between embassies and other high-profile locations. Another two travel mostly between high-end residential and retail. One of them spends a lot of time in questionable neighborhoods and outside clubs, twice leaving just before major drug busts went down—I'm sharing that one with our friends at the DEA—which leaves this one."

More security footage and traffic camera images appeared on the screen behind her. "I have a vehicle of this same make and model traveling the roads nearest to the Sandstorm headquarters at least twice a week before the explosion. And…" More images appeared. "This is the entrance to the parking lot of the warehouse, two days before the explosion. Same make, same model—"

"Same tires," Reade said, narrow gaze focused on the screen.

"And different plates every time." Patterson faced Weller. "I think that's Shepherd. Her movements are erratic and at irregular intervals, so we can't predict where she'll be."

"Why wouldn't they just ditch the car and get a new one?" asked Tasha skeptically.

"That's a concern. But between the cost of car and the time and expense of getting it modified—you're looking at a quarter mil, easy—they probably don't replace it as often as they do other vehicles. They have the GPS turned off, they're rotating the plates, and they probably scan it regularly for bugs and tracking devices…" Patterson shrugged. "They probably think it's safe enough."

"So we know where she's been," cut in Weller. "How do we know where she'll be?"

"Two of the locations I've tracked the car are here, less than two hours outside the city." A new map and an aerial photograph replaced the traffic camera images. "The first is a family farm that purchased sold almost ten years ago to a shell company. The same group bought the adjacent property about a year later." Boundary lines appeared on the aerial photograph behind her.

"Both properties are supposedly abandoned, which matches with the latest satellite images." She pointed to the photo, which showed a house, a long utility shed and a few smaller outbuildings, all apparently abandoned and overgrown. "Only… that image is from almost ten years ago. And has carefully been overlaid over newer images."

Reade shook his head. "How can you tell?"

"The shadows are wrong for the time of day it was taken. And when you compare it historically… it's the same image. The trees were recolored to match the autumn coloring on the surrounding areas, but the sun should be lower in the sky for the date and time it was taken. Someone replaced this image."

"I'll get you updated images." Nas tapped on her phone.

"These _are_ your updated images," said Patterson.

Nas's fingertips froze over the phone. "You're saying someone in the intelligence community replaced those images?" Nas scowled at the images as though personally affronted.

"Yes." Patterson didn't back down. A new image appeared beside the first. "This image is from a weather satellite. Not as high resolution, but you can clearly see that there are more buildings—and in better condition—on the first property than the false image. Looks like a house, a large utility shed, and several outbuildings."

Weller was studying Patterson instead of the screen. "What's the second property?"

Patterson gave him a tight nod. "It was a missile silo during the height of the cold war. It was decommissioned in the late eighties, and the property was auctioned off by the government in the nineties. All the weapons were removed, but the facility itself was intact at the time of sale. With a decent investment of time and money, it could be retrofit to fire modern missiles." The screen panned to the second property. "The silo is underground, here." A circle appeared on the screen. "Likely concealed so it's not visible from the air, but the door to the bunker is visible here. New storage shed, less than a hundred yards away. The road in is clear, and there's a new gravel drive running through the property to the adjacent farm, bypassing the main road."

Silence fell over the room as the team digested that.

"We know Jeffrey Kantor was working on smart weapons, laser guidance, or missile and fire control," began Patterson.

"And we know Shepherd's in the market for HMX," said Weller.

"Yes." Patterson poked her index finger in the air. "The warehouse explosion showed up trace amounts of HMX, but not enough to make it a real factor. The actual explosion was consistent with C-4. I think Sandstorm was using the warehouse to store HMX. The day before the explosion, I've got security footage of two trucks at the warehouse that match trucks on traffic camera images heading out toward the farm and silo a little over two hours later."

"So they blew it up to cover up whatever they'd concealed there," Reade said.

"Exactly." Patterson waited a beat. "I think Shepherd is building some sort of missile, and it's going to launch from this location. But I don't know when or what the target is. They have the HMX and the chip, so it could be any moment. I _do_ know that the car arrived at the silo location about an hour ago."

Weller gave a sharp nod. "So we send in two teams, one to the farm, the other to the silo. Secure the location before they can launch."

"No." Pellington's voice cut through everything. "This is all highly circumstantial, Agent Patterson. You have no proof that Sandstorm or any of the people we're after are actually at these locations."

"Not yet, but—"

"Assistant Director Weller, the last time this office led a raid against this organization, we lost _nine_ agents. That's not a risk we can take again without verified intel." He shook his head. "Monitor them, get confirmation that they're the people we're after. Then we can talk about moving in."

Kurt's jaw clenched, and Jane knew he was holding on to his temper by a thread. "With all due respect, sir, if they realize we're watching, they'll disappear. Or set up another trap. It's taken us weeks to get this close. If we wait, they fire that missile, and who knows what the target is or how many lives will be lost."

"If your agents are good at their jobs, they can do it without being detected. Get me something that isn't circumstantial story time, and you can move in. But I won't risk more agents on something that could be a trap or a work of pure fiction!"

Jane turned her head slightly, to look at Roman. She already knew what she'd see. He was regarding her steadily, unblinking, but when her eyes met his, he moved his chin down in a slow, careful nod.

Kurt opened his mouth to argue with Pellington, but Jane cut him off. "Roman and I will do it."


	21. Chapter 21

Silence fell in the lab as all eyes turned to Jane and Roman.

"We go in, find Shepherd. Alert the team that she's there. And then we take her down." Jane squared her shoulders and faced Pellington directly. Beside her, Roman did the same.

"Absolutely not!" exploded Weller. "Without a team, that's a suicide mission."

Jane raised her chin a notch and met his angry gaze across Patterson's table. "Roman and I are the only two non-agents you have. We have the training and the ability to get in and find Shepherd. We confirm to you once we have her, you bring in the rest of the team, and we shut Sandstorm down. For good. Before she can launch Phase Two."

"It's. Too. Dangerous." Weller's gaze bored into her.

"It's more dangerous to wait. We don't know how much HMX she's managed to get her hands on. If she targets New York City or Washington D.C.? We could be looking at catastrophic loss of life. You know she won't hesitate to kill as many people as she has to in order to carry out her agenda."

Weller glared at her, nostrils flaring. He glanced at Roman, but Jane knew there'd be nothing there to change his mind. Roman stood motionless beside her, ready to go. To do what was right, to try to atone for the damage they'd already done, whether they could remember it or not.

To earn a chance for a future.

"Thank you, Ms. Doe. Roman." Pellington nodded at them. "Good luck."

Jane ignored him, still focused on Weller. He shot her a fulminating look. "Patterson, find a suitable drop point," he barked out. And then he turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.

"Good luck to all of you," said Pellington smoothly, as though his Assistant Director hadn't just stomped off. He followed Weller more sedately out the door.

Roman and Jane exchanged glances. _Are you sure?_ his asked.

"I'll talk to him," she said quietly. _We don't have a choice._ She didn't need to say it out loud.

The rest of the team stirred into action around them.

"Reade and I will get the surveillance van ready," said Tasha quietly. Her dark eyes were shadowed as she looked at Jane. They weren't exactly friends these days, but they weren't enemies either.

"We'll be right behind you," Reade added somberly, pausing in front of them. He gave Jane a small nod and then followed Tasha out the door.

"I have the map here," said Patterson, looking down at her work table.

Jane and Roman joined her, looking down as she tapped and marked things on the satellite image.

"There's a road on the other side of the silo. Looks like it's mostly used for access to the power lines by the utility company. Not a lot of traffic. It should be a good place for us to get you as close as we can without anyone noticing. It's less than half a mile to the silo from there."

She looked up, blue eyes dark with worry. "After you give us the word, we'll block the roads around both properties. No one will get in or out, so you'll only have to contend with whoever is at the farm."

Jane glanced over at Roman. "That could be a lot. If all the troops from the mansion relocated there…"

He nodded. "We need to make sure no one at the silo has a chance to call for backup."

Patterson leaned over and grabbed Jane's wrist. "You don't have to do this. Give me a day, and I'll see what kind of surveillance I can put in place—"

"How long does Shepherd stay, when she's here?"

Patterson's grip tightened, but her head dropped. "Overnight," she admitted. "She's usually gone early the next morning."

"So if we wait, she leaves, maybe doesn't come back, maybe carries out her plan. And if she figures out we're watching her? Maybe disappears. Again."

Patterson closed her eyes. "Maybe."

Jane patted her hand as she deftly extracted her arm from the other woman's grip. "Get all the topographical intel you can," she told Roman. "I want to know every anthill around that silo."

She stepped back from the table and drew a deep breath. "I'm going to talk to Kurt."

###

Kurt wasn't seated at his desk. He was standing over it, palms flat on the surface, glaring so hard at the folders littering its surface that Jane expected them to burst into flame.

Jane swallowed and opened the door to his office.

He didn't say anything, just stared at her with glacial blue eyes.

When the silence had stretched out too long, Jane inhaled and asked, "Do you have a better plan?"

"No," he admitted. "But if you'd waited one damn minute, maybe we could have come up with one."

"You said yourself, if they realize we're watching, they'll disappear or set up another ambush. And if they launch a missile-"

He slammed both palms on the surface of his desk. "It's too dangerous. I'm not letting you walk into Shepherd's territory with no backup."

Jane crossed her arms. "What did Pellington want this morning?"

Kurt's gaze slid away from hers, and she knew then that Roman had been right.

When he didn't answer, she guessed, "Pellington wants to send us to the CIA. See if we'd be more _'helpful'_ there."

"Just Roman," Kurt admitted. "He knows better than to try to touch you."

She gave a jerky nod. It's what she'd thought, but hearing it confirmed made her feel sick. She waited until Kurt met her eyes again. "We don't have any other choice."

Not if they wanted to stop Shepherd. Not if she wanted to keep Roman out of a black site.

Kurt closed his eyes and bowed his head.

"I guess we'd better not screw this up then," she said, with more levity than she felt.

He didn't smile.

"Be careful, dammit. Both of you." Blue eyes bored into hers.

She nodded. "You, too." Her voice was huskier than usual. She swallowed the lump in her throat and added, "Dammit."

His lips twitched, but neither of them could find it in them to smile.

A long minute passed, and then Jane broke the heavy silence. "I'll be in Patterson's lab."

He didn't follow her.

###

The preparations kept Jane too busy to think very much, but the two-hour drive gave her far too much time to contemplate everything that could go wrong.

She tried to stay focused, running various scenarios with Roman, reviewing the topographical information Patterson had compiled, as well as the schematics for the missile silo she'd dug up from God only knows what archive. "But there's no telling what kind of modifications they've made inside," Patterson cautioned them. "I'm sure the cold-war-era control room is gone. But the crew areas could be completely different as well. The only things I'm sure are the same are the blast doors, here and here. They weigh two thousand pounds each."

"You okay?" asked Roman quietly, when Jane found herself staring vacantly at the schematic yet again.

She nodded. "I'm fine." But her brain wouldn't stop asking pointless "what if" questions. _What if Patterson was wrong? What if Shepherd wasn't there, and this was all for nothing? What if Pellington refused to give Roman any more time and shipped him off to the CIA? What if Shepherd_ was _there? What if it was another trap? What if she and Roman didn't have time to warn the team? What if she didn't make it out? What if she never got the chance to tell Kurt how she felt?_

She shook off all the questions she had no answers to, and refocused instead on the things within her control. "We'll approach the silo here," she tapped the tablet, "circle around the perimeter and take out any sentries they have posted." They noted the places on the map most likely to have surveillance cameras so they could avoid them.

They were traveling light. Handguns instead of assault rifles. Anonymous black jackets and cargo pants with extra magazines. Nothing to mark them as FBI, even though most of Shepherd's troops would probably recognize them immediately. Small and lightweight radio headsets. Jane also carried a tiny camera that could give the team video. "But keep everything off as long as you can," Patterson had warned them. "They're probably scanning for signals. You don't want to announce that you're there."

She and Roman went over and over the information that they had, committing it all to memory. And then the van stopped.

"Showtime," muttered Roman. He handed the tablet back to Patterson, who watched them with huge, worried blue eyes.

"Be careful," she whispered, her eyes flickering between the two of them.

Roman nodded.

Jane tried to force a smile to her lips, but she knew it wasn't convincing. "See you later."

Patterson bobbed her head. "Yes. I'll see you both later."

Reade, Tasha, and Nas were in place at the other end of the van. They turned almost as one to watch Jane and Roman depart.

"Good luck," whispered Tasha.

Kurt was waiting by the door to the van.

He and Roman regarded each other steadily for a moment. Kurt jerked his chin, and Roman returned the nod. And then he slipped out into the darkness.

Jane stepped up, and Kurt turned to face her.

He reached out to grasp her by the upper arms. "Be careful," he told her again, his hands tightening almost painfully on her arms as he gave her a tiny shake.

She couldn't speak, so she just nodded.

His hand slipped from her arm to the back of her neck and tugged her forward.

She was afraid for a second that he was going to try and kiss her. She didn't want to kiss him; it would have felt like goodbye, and she wasn't going to say that, in words or action.

But he just tilted his head so he could rest his forehead against hers.

She leaned toward him and allowed herself to close her eyes for one brief second. To just _be_ , touching him, breathing the same air.

And then she straightened and drew away. His hand tightened on the back of her neck and then let go.

She slipped out the door into the night without looking back.


	22. Chapter 22

The night was dark and cold. Jane and Roman moved down the utility road until they could cut through a small bit of woods. The abandoned fields of the farm lay overgrown and impassable to one side. They skirted along the edge, moving silently through the night, concentrating on their footing in the faint light from the moon.

This far from the city, there was less ambient light, and in the cloudless sky, the stars seemed to have multiplied. In other circumstances, Jane would have stopped to marvel at them. But tonight she could spare them little more than a cursory glance, mentally counting off distances in her head and comparing the shadowy contours around her to the map in her memory.

Roman followed close behind her, his footfalls like hers nearly silent. They communicated effortlessly without words, and Jane was able to release one bit of worry. She and Roman hadn't worked together in the field since losing their memories. But it was clear that their instincts regarding the other were true as they circled around the perimeter of the silo property, checking for sentries and cameras.

Roman spotted the first camera when they came to the gravel drive that led to the farm, and they gave it a wide berth, creeping up just beyond the periphery of its lens.

Another hundred yards and the road curved a bit, and beyond that lay a large metal structure that appeared to be in use as a garage. Through the open bay door, they could see the black sedan, parked beside a battered SUV and an anonymous white truck that appeared to be one of the ones Patterson had identified as moving the HMX from the warehouse to this location.

There was a lone sentry posted at the far corner of the garage, peering off into the darkness beyond, where the door to the bunker was barely visible, illuminated by a single light.

They circled noiselessly behind the garage and around toward the bunker. From the closer vantage point, they could see a second sentry, hugging the shadows to the side of the door.

A large man-made hill had been created to help conceal the door to the bunker, the earthenware berm appearing to crouch protectively around the cement frame.

With a single glance, Jane and Roman separated, Jane circling the far side of the berm, Roman keeping to the shadows beside the garage. When they were both in position, Jane counted silently in her head, before leaping down from the top of the berm onto the soldier posted beneath. He was larger and as well-trained as she was, but she had the element of surprise, and he dropped like a stone. At the same moment, the sentry posted by the garage looked over toward the muffled sound, and was leveled soundlessly by the butt of Roman's handgun.

They moved the unconscious men into the shadows, pausing to zip-tie their wrists and ankles.

The next part would be the most harrowing. The two-story stairwell that led down into the bunker was long and straight, with only a single landing to break up the descent. They would be totally exposed there, both to anyone who came to defend the stronghold and to the security camera positioned at the foot of the stairs.

Jane patted the pocket with the RF scrambler. It could buy them a few minutes to get down the stairs, if no one was watching too closely. Or it could announce their presence to a hidden army. And there was no way to know which case was true until it was too late.

She stopped just outside the door to listen. On the opposite side of the doorway, Roman stopped, also listening, waiting for her signal. From the stairwell, there was nothing but silence. She nodded at Roman and started down the stairs, moving as swiftly and silently as she could. Behind her, Roman crouched at the top of the stairs, preparing to offer cover should she need it. She reached the first landing, blood hammering in her ears, but still hearing only silence beyond her. She signaled to Roman and kept moving.

She reached the bottom of the steps and ducked through the doorway and past the security camera. She peeked around the corner, but there was no one there, and no sound of an alarm being raised. She shut down the voice inside that worried that this was too easy, that they were walking into a trap, and waved Roman to follow her around the corner and through the first blast door.

A half flight of stairs led down to the upper level, which housed the crew's living space. A quick glance showed that this area had been left relatively unchanged in the thirty-plus years since the silo had been decommissioned. An inexpensive new microwave sat on the ancient laminated counter in the kitchen area, and a row of modern military cots lined the wall in the sleeping area, but otherwise the space looked exactly like the specs Patterson had found.

Jane and Roman swept the level, but it was deserted. They went back to the stairs, Jane again taking point. She went down three steps and then froze at the sound of footsteps on the cement floor below. One person, a large male judging by the heavy tread, moved from the silo to the control room on the level below them.

One look over her shoulder at Roman, following behind her, and she crept down the stairs to the next landing.

Two voices carried up from the door to the control room.

"Shepherd's on a tear."

"Nothing new there," replied a second, slightly more nasal voice. "She's been a grade-A bitch this whole op."

"At least there's only one bitch to deal with these days," muttered the first voice.

There was a snort and then, "You missing your girlfriend?"

"Fuck you."

"I'm sure Remi misses breaking your nose, too. Hand me those cables."

More muffled obscenities echoed out into the stairwell, along with the sounds of things being pushed around on the cement floor.

So there was no hope that she and Roman could get away without being recognized, not that Jane had really expected that they could.

She listened closely, but although the men continued to trade verbal abuse, she heard only two voices.

From the landing, she'd be able to peer around the corner right and down the remaining steps into the control room. But anyone in the control room looking out would be able to see them.

 _Two people_ , she signaled to Roman. _Be ready._

She was nearly certain that Shepherd was in the silo, but she couldn't alert the team without proof. Any gunfire would immediately alert anyone in the silo, and likely the troops at the farm too. They had to take out whoever was in the control room, silently and swiftly.

She drew a deep breath and peered around the corner.

The control room was large, its floor scattered with boxes and electronics equipment. To the left of the door, two men in fatigues were loading electronics into a metal rack, their backs to the doorway. Beyond them, a row of wall-mounted monitors spanned the curving outside wall of the control room. One of the screens clearly showed the stairwell where they'd entered, but the chair across from the monitors was empty, and neither man paid attention to the security footage as they bitched at each other.

The larger guy—with the deeper voice—had a handgun in a holster at his waist. The smaller man, with a lean, lanky build, appeared to be unarmed.

Jane was down the stairs and outside the door to the control room before either of them turned around.

The larger guy turned to pick up another electronics box, and she ducked out of sight.

On the landing above her, Roman disappeared back around the wall.

Jane counted silently and then peeked back in the room. Both men were still focused on the electronics they were assembling.

Roman slipped into the corner outside the door behind her, waited for her nod, and then they moved in.

They had the element of surprise on their side, which at least gave Jane a chance to grab for the pistol before the big guy could grab it. But once he got a good look at who he was fighting, the ugly look on his face got even uglier. " _Fuck_ ," he hissed, swinging at her.

In the back of her mind, Jane noted with satisfaction that his crooked nose had clearly been broken on at least one occasion, and she hoped that she'd been the one to do it.

She ducked his punch and tossed his gun on the floor behind her as she kicked him in the gut.

He staggered back and then dove at her, shoving her down into the concrete floor.

She twisted as she fell, so instead of landing on her, he fell next to her. She assisted his landing with an elbow to the back of his head. His forehead hit the concrete, bounced, and lay still.

Roman was already zip-tying the second man. They dragged them into the closet that housed the ventilation system and disabled the doorknob.

"Shepherd's here." Roman murmured. It wasn't a question, but she nodded anyway.

They needed proof, but she knew neither one of them was going to just snap a picture and walk away. The last time they'd faced Shepherd, it had been clear that death was the endgame, and the stakes were no less high now.

Roman met her gaze, his eyes steady and focused. "Let's go."

Jane led the way back out into the hallway. Past the stairs lay the second set of blast doors, and beyond that, a tube-shaped hallway led to another set of heavy doors and the missile bay.

She heard Shepherd's voice before she saw her.

"The warhead is ready. The rest of the HMX we need for the rocket fuel will be here in three days. I want this ready to launch by then."

"We're moving as fast as we can, but—"

 _"Three. Days."_ A pause. "Where are we on the guidance system?"

The voices were echoing up from within the nine-story space, but they weren't that far away.

Jane stepped out onto the cement platform. A few feet in front of her, the floor changed to a metal grating. Moving silently and slowly, careful to keep the hanging light fixture in front of her to avoid casting a shadow, she crept to the edge of the floor.

Shepherd and another man were standing on the level below them, at the edge of platform. Just beyond was the side of the rocket, a large panel removed to expose the wiring beneath.

Jane tuned out their conversation, focusing instead on how to get to the next level without being seen. The metal staircase to the left led directly down to the area where Shepherd stood. There was no cover, and she suspected they'd both be dead before they made it to the bottom. There was a service ladder in the far corner, but it was just as exposed as the stairs, and there was no way to get to it without being seen from below.

The only way down that wouldn't give Shepherd time to respond was to jump.

She eyed the gap between the edge of the platform and the rocket. If she miscalculated, it was a 9-story drop to the bottom.

She'd better not miscalculate.

She turned to look over her shoulder at Roman. He met her gaze and looked pointedly at the stairwell, telling her without words that he could jump over the railing down to the next level.

She inclined her head and flexed her fingers by her thigh where he could see them. _Five. Four. Three. Two._

She swung over the edge, her hand grabbing the edge of the ledge, and used her momentum to swing past the death drop and down onto platform.

Shepherd reacted with snake-like reflexes, drawing her gun and whirling to face Jane. Jane landed in a crouch, using the impact to spring back up at her adoptive mother, knocking the pistol from her grasp before she could fire it. The gun hit the metal grid and slid, stopping short of the edge.

Behind her, she could hear Roman grappling with the other Sandstorm soldier, but she didn't dare take her eyes off Shepherd. She saw the first blow coming and dodged it easily. The kick that followed she deflected, but the impact sent a shockwave up her side.

 _Focus, Remi_ , Shepherd said, and it took Jane a moment to realize that it was a memory she'd heard inside her head. She obeyed, and the world shrank down into simply _strike, block, kick, dodge_.

She and Shepherd were the same height. Nearly the same build. And they fought with the same techniques. Used the same dirty tricks. They moved back and forth, neither able to gain the upper hand. She landed a savage blow to Shepherd's collarbone, jerking the other woman's head back like a marionette on a wire. And was immediately driven back by a blow to her ribs that shoved her into the path of the man Roman had just hit. He grabbed at Jane for balance as Shepherd turned on Roman.

And then Jane realized that they'd traveled to the edge of the platform. Acting on instinct, she dropped to the ground, shoving her hand through the grate as she fell and rolled to the edge, limbs tangled with her opponent. Only her hold on the grate kept her from going with him as the weight of their combined bodies hung at the edge. Her hand and shoulder burned as though they were being ripped from her body. His flailing arms grabbed for purchase as he rolled over her and past the edge, pulling her with him.

But she didn't let go as he fell away, calling on the last bit of strength in her arm to wrench her body back onto the platform, one leg dangling precariously over the edge.

She allowed herself one second to breathe before pulling herself back from the edge and forcing her knotted fingers to release the grate.

 _Roman needed her._

She dragged herself to her feet, flexing her hand to force the blood back into it, and turned to face her brother and mother.

Roman was bleeding from a cut above his brow. He blinked away the blood that was dripping onto his lashes. He shoved Shepherd back, and she fell across a work table at the back of the platform.

Something about the way she fell set off an alarm bell in Jane's head. Shepherd sprawled against the surface of the table, and with a roar, Roman lunged after her.

It was a trap.

But Jane was too far away to stop him. Shepherd's arm came up to block the blow… as her other arm came off the table, a wrench clutched in her fist.

In slow motion, Jane watched as Shepherd's forearm wrapped around Roman's shoulder, the wrench cutting a wide arc through the air. It struck the back of Roman's head with a sickening crack.

He went down like a stone, and in some strange, detached part of her brain, Jane registered that he was probably dead. Her instincts screamed at her to fling herself at Shepherd as Roman had, but that same clinical part of her brain said simply, _Watch._

Shepherd blinked, her eyes flicking to the edge of the platform and back.

 _Don't telegraph your moves_ , Shepherd's voice barked in Jane's head. And Jane knew what she was going to do.

Shepherd launched herself toward the gun, which still rested at the edge of the platform where Jane had knocked it away. But Jane moved simultaneously. Shepherd brought the wrench up as Jane struck the back of her hand hard enough to shoot a shockwave up the length of her arm. At the same time, her right hand grasped Shepherd's wrist just as Shepherd grabbed the pistol. Jane locked her elbow, keeping the pistol pointed away from her body.

She felt the moment of indecision as Shepherd wavered and then let go of the wrench. _You need leverage for that, and you don't have it,_ said Shepherd's voice.

Jane brought her knee up and knocked the wrench away.

Both women grabbed for the pistol with both hands. Shepherd had her hand around the grip, but she couldn't bring in it front of her. And so they both strained to push the pistol toward the other.

 _You can't win on strength here. You need to use surprise._

Jane didn't ease her grip as she planted her feet and dug her toes in, prepared for Shepherd to suddenly jerk backwards. In the sudden loss of force, Jane was supposed to fall forward, into the barrel of the gun. But instead, she held still and yanked the gun up, in between them, her hand closing over Shepherd's.

The explosion of the gun echoed through the cavernous space.

Shepherd blinked, her face inches from Jane's. Her forehead wrinkled, her mouth silently forming the word, _How?_

"You taught me." Her own voice sounded foreign with Shepherd's words still reverberating in her head.

The older woman swayed and fell away, and the pistol slipped from their shared grasp to clatter to the ground beside her mother's body.

It was over.

Jane knew that she should straighten. She should turn. From the corner of her eye, she could see Roman's boot. But she couldn't bring herself to move. If she didn't turn, if she didn't look, she didn't have to face that she had failed. That she hadn't kept him safe. That even wiping his memory hadn't given him the chance that she'd wanted for him.

"You did it, Jane."

It took her a minute to realize that Nas's voice was real.

She raised her eyes dumbly to the figure standing on the stairs.

"You stopped Shepherd."

Jane nodded. She swallowed and tried to speak, but only one word emerged. "Roman."

She turned her chin then, just far enough to see him, sprawled facedown on the ground, deathly still, wet red blood obscenely dark against his fair hair.

"I'm sorry, Jane. You did everything we asked of you."

She tried to nod again, but she was numb. Everything was numb.

She looked back toward Nas, waiting for some instruction to tell her what she was supposed to do now.

Nas was holding a gun. And it was pointed at Jane.

She tried to make sense of it, but nothing made sense anymore.

"You're the last piece of Orion," Nas said gently. "Everyone else is gone." She looked at Shepherd's body and shook her head. "Ellen was so proud of you. You were her legacy."

Roman's dream. Only it wasn't a dream. "You knew my mother."

"Of course. We worked together at Fort Meade all those years. No one could do the things we were able to do."

"You're not Sandstorm." Jane couldn't believe that. They'd been taken in by Borden. But not by Nas, too?

Nas sniffed and reared back. "Of course not. She tried to get me to go with her when she left. But she should have known I wouldn't go. Bethany wouldn't go either. And when Ellen took care of her, I knew I was next. It was Ellen or me."

"My mother was Zero Division?"

"Your mother was Orion. Bethany was Orion. You and your brother were Orion. We were _all_ Orion. But your mother changed her mind. She wanted to expose everything we'd done, ruin everything we'd worked toward. She had to be stopped. Anything that could lead back to Orion needed to be destroyed."

The numbness was receding. Jane tried to comprehend what Nas was saying. "Carter was in charge of Orion."

Nas gave a feminine snort. "That sexist ass. He wanted to be in charge. It galled him to take orders from me or from Ellen. I had everything we needed here in the US. And Ellen had our own special forces to do whatever we needed done. But the CIA had operatives overseas, intel I couldn't get. So dealing with him was unavoidable sometimes. I never got to thank her for getting rid of him. Keaton is so much easier to keep in line."

 _Keaton_.

Jane straightened. "You sent me to the CIA. You knew who I was when I arrived in Times Square."

"Of course I did. Why do you think I sent Carter to get you?" She shook her head in annoyance. "He was as incompetent as he was arrogant. Not that Keaton had much more success." She waved the gun. "It doesn't matter now."

Jane eyed the gun at her feet and calculated the odds of her reaching it before Nas fired.

"It's over, Jane."

The impact of the first bullet shoved her backwards, and the second knocked her off her feet completely. She was flying, falling, and then there was a sharp crack of pain, and the world went black.


	23. Chapter 23

There wasn't room to pace in the surveillance van.

But that didn't stop Kurt from trying, looking from Patterson's screen to Tasha's.

"Did you get into their security feed yet?" he demanded.

Patterson glanced up, a reproachful look in her blue eyes. "This isn't a 7-Eleven, Weller. There's a lot of encryption here. We're going as fast as we can."

He grunted, moving back to Zapata. "Are their comms on yet?"

Zapata shook her head. "Nothing yet."

"It's only been ten minutes, Kurt." Nas rested a hand on his forearm, squeezing the tensed muscle there. "It will take them fifteen minutes to reach the bunker, longer if they need to evade security. Give Jane time to do her job."

 _And do_ your _job_ , was her implied message.

Only there wasn't anything for him to do right now. He needed to be out in the field, watching Jane's back as she'd always had his. Not standing in here, powerless, _useless_ , protecting a desk job he didn't even want.

Not like he wanted Jane back home, safe. Tucked beside him in bed as she'd been that morning, less than a day but lightyears away from where they were now.

He shouldn't have let her go. Shouldn't have let her do this.

His arms dropped to his sides, but his hands stayed closed in tight fists.

Fifteen minutes. Twenty.

And still nothing from Jane or Roman's comms.

"I'm in," said Patterson.

Weller moved behind her, flanked by Nas and Reade.

"Okay, here's the outside of the bunker. The shed—there's the car." Patterson cycled through the images. "Main stairwell. Control room. Access tunnel." She stopped. The next two feeds were nothing but pixelation. "They must be in the silo. The RF scrambler is still working." There were more images, showing the sides of the rocket on ever lower levels, and then the bottom of the rocket, giant exhaust pipes and the steel supports it rested upon. But no people. No Shepherd, no Jane, and no Roman.

Patterson went back to the pixelated images, but the feed was still scrambled. "They're on one of the top two levels in the silo."

But there was no way to know if they were alone. Or if they were alive or dead.

It'd been nearly 25 minutes since they'd left.

He was going.

"Kurt." Nas's nails dug into his arm. "You can't leave. We don't know if Shepherd is in there. If she's not, this whole operation fails."

He shook her off.

But she blocked the door to the van. "I'll go. I'm not part of the FBI. I'll find Jane and Roman. And let you know who else is in that silo. Get the second team ready."

She was dressed for the op, as they all were, flak jacket, handgun, and spare clips in place.

He jerked his arm. " _Go._ "

But his sense of unease only intensified after she'd vanished into the night.

He should have gone. Not Nas.

He turned back to Patterson and grabbed the pad by her keyboard. He touched his finger to his lips and then wrote: _Nas comms on?_

Patterson looked at the screen, grabbed a pen and wrote: _Ear yes, mic no._

He nodded. _Turn on mic remotely?_

Patterson frowned at him but nodded.

 _Do it. Listen. Don't tell her I left._

Tasha and Reade looked at the pad over Patterson's shoulder and exchanged worried looks.

Kurt held up his hand to indicate they shouldn't follow.

He checked and holstered his weapon and let himself out of the van.

He moved quickly but saw no sign of Nas. She'd had nearly a five-minute head start, but he couldn't be that far behind her.

"Weller," Patterson's echoed through his comm, fraught with worry. "Someone just fell from one of the upper levels inside the silo. I can't tell who it is. But they fell fast. It's a nine-story drop from the top."

Jane had been on that platform, and now someone was dead. Possibly Jane. Or Roman.

He arrived at the bunker at a dead run. There was no one outside, nor in the stairwell or any of the areas that had appeared empty on the surveillance feed.

He heard Nas's voice when he reached the end of the tunnel, but the words made no sense. "Bethany was Orion. You and your brother were Orion. We were _all_ Orion…"

He crept out onto the platform.

And then he heard Jane's voice and had to shut his eyes for a second at the relief that flooded him. She was alive and on the level below him, not crumpled at the bottom of the silo, nine stories down. "Carter was in charge of Orion."

"That sexist ass."

He peered down through the grate in the floor.

Jane was standing below him, a body crumpled at her feet. He saw the hair and knew it was Shepherd. He couldn't see Roman, but Nas stood on the stairs, pointing a gun at Jane. "Keaton is so much easier to keep in line."

He shifted back, as silently as he could, to the top of the stairwell. He drew his weapon and lined up his shot.

And then he hesitated. He opened his mouth to draw Nas's attention, just as he heard her say, "It's over, Jane."

The gun in her hand fired, two shots in close succession.

He barely had time to turn his head as Jane fell backwards, her head striking the concrete portion of the ledge with a sickening bounce, and then lay still.

The gun in Kurt's hand recoiled, but he barely registered it. He leapt down the stairs, reaching the bottom as Nas tumbled bonelessly down the last steps. He ignored her except to note that his head shot had been accurate.

"Weller? What's happening?" Patterson yelled in his ear but he ignored her too as he lunged over Shepherd's body to get to Jane, who hadn't moved.

"No. NO." He dropped to his knees and grabbed for her. The front of her shirt was wet, leaving dark red streaks on his hands as he touched her.

So much blood.

He had to stop the bleeding.

"Hang on, Jane. Stay with me." He kept yelling and pleading as he yanked up the front of her shirt and jacket, finding below it—

Only whole, unbroken skin.

Blood streaked her belly, but he couldn't find where it was coming from. He tried to lift the shirt higher, but something was holding it in place. He ripped open her jacket and stared at the vest she was wearing beneath it, holding the two flattened lumps of lead that lined up with the holes in her jacket. No holes in the seams, no blood inside the vest.

His fingers swept over her, searching for other injuries, but finding none.

Jane gasped and arched her back.

"Easy, baby." He helped her roll onto her side, rubbed her back as she sucked in the air that the bullets had knocked from her lungs. "You're okay," he told her, more for his own benefit, just needing to say it. To believe it.

She shoved herself up until she was sitting. He ran his hand gently over her skull. She flinched away from his probing fingertips when he reached the back of her head, where she'd hit the floor, but aside from the bruises on her chest and the back of her head, she seemed unharmed.

She tilted her head to look up at him, green eyes wide and confused.

"You're wearing a vest," he said. It was the first of his jumbled mass of thoughts that he could grasp hold of.

"You told me to be careful," she replied. And then her eyes widened as she remembered how she'd come to be here. She grabbed his arm. "Nas."

"She's dead."

" _Roman_." She pushed at his arm, and he turned to look behind him.

Roman lay sprawled on the ground behind them.

Jane gave a choked cry and scrambled past Kurt, ignoring his efforts to keep her still.

At the same time, he heard a clatter on the stairs and looked up to see Tasha and Reade racing down to them. Reade stopped beside Nas as Tasha dropped to her knees on Roman's far side.

He became aware that Patterson was talking in his ear, but she shut up as Tasha began barking answers her questions. "We need paramedics. Roman is unconscious. Head trauma. He's breathing. I've got a pulse, but it's weak." She eyed Jane, who was clutching at Roman's other arm. "Jane's okay, I think."

"Paramedics are on the way. Second team is flushing Sandstorm out of the farmhouse with teargas," Patterson's voice said in his ear. "Gunfire exchanged, but no one hit on our side. The roads are closed. There's nowhere for them to go. Backup is moving in."

Weller replied to her on autopilot as he climbed to his feet, still focused on Jane and Roman.

Jane was hunched over, talking urgently to her brother as she squeezed his hand in hers.

He'd sent them both here. He could have fought Pellington on it, but he hadn't. He'd sent both of them in here to die. And for a few minutes, he'd been convinced that they'd both done just that.

 _Hang on, Roman._

And as if he was responding to Kurt's plea, Roman groaned and shifted.

Jane called his name, leaning closer to him. Even from a few feet away, Kurt could see the tears in her eyes.

Roman's eyelids fluttered and then opened. He looked around wildly for a moment, until he focused on Jane. "Shepherd?" he croaked.

"She's dead."

"You're okay?"

"I'm fine," Jane reassured him. "And you're going to be fine, too. She hit you on the back of your head."

He tried to reach up to touch his head, but Tasha caught his hand. "Hang on. Let the medics check you."

Roman stopped struggling. "We made it," he said, never looking away from his sister.

Jane nodded and squeezed his hand. "We made it." Her voice was thick and choked with emotion.

 _No thanks to him_. Kurt turned away and crossed to Reade, still standing over Nas. "She—" and then he stopped, not sure where to begin.

"We know. Patterson hacked the feed and patched us through to the audio."

Kurt nodded, glad not to have to explain.

"She planned to kill Jane and Roman all along, didn't she? After they'd brought her Shepherd."

"Yes." And not only had he helped her, he'd been _sleeping with her_. He'd brought Jane in for her and handed her over. To be used as a pawn, and then sacrificed at the end.

And if Jane hadn't taken the time to don a vest, Nas would have succeeded in executing her, shooting her at point-blank range while Kurt just stood there and watched.

He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat.

"How did you know?" Reade asked him.

"Something Roman said."

"Paramedics are on their way down, team," said Patterson.

Kurt nodded to Reade to go direct them.

"We've got three bodies down here, possibly more," he told Patterson. "I need a full sweep." It would take a couple of hours to secure the whole facility, probably longer to explain to Pellington what the hell had happened.

He scrubbed his hands over his face.

The paramedics arrived and loaded Roman onto a stretcher despite his complaints that he could walk.

"You need stitches. You're going to the hospital and getting checked out," Jane informed him. She was using her no-nonsense voice, but Kurt heard the tremor in it and noted that she hadn't let go of her brother's hand.

"You're getting checked out, too," Kurt told her. Turning to the EMTs, he added, "She hit the back of her head on the concrete and blacked out for at least a minute."

"I'm fine, Kurt."

He just nodded. _Fine_. She'd nearly _died_.

He wanted to touch her, to reassure himself that she was okay, but Roman's stretcher was between them, and the EMTs were already moving.

"Keep an eye on him," he called after her as they headed up the stairs.

She turned and seemed to focus on him for the first time. He stared back, holding her gaze for as long as he could and seeing her still in his mind's eye long after she had disappeared from view.


	24. Chapter 24

_So no, I'm not dead, and this fic has not been abandoned. Life has been a little crazy lately. And to be totally honest, married-but-separated canon Jeller was kind of messing with my married-but-oblivious fanfic Jeller, and it took me longer than I expected to get back into the headspace of this story._

 _Thanks for still being here!_

* * *

Jane shifted in the chair beside Roman's bed. It was more comfortable than the one she'd spent three hours on in the waiting room, but she still couldn't manage to relax.

"You gonna talk about it, or just sit there and sigh all night?" Roman cracked one eye open.

"I can go. You should rest." She put her hands on the arms of the chair, preparing to stand.

"I'm kidding." He opened both eyes to peer at her. "How's your head? Sure you don't want to check in? They'll give you the good stuff."

A CAT scan had revealed no damage to his skull, which he'd immediately attributed to hardheadedness. (Jane didn't argue.) He'd gotten nine stitches to close up the wound and medication for his killer headache. They'd admitted him overnight for observation, but barring any complications, the doctors had agreed he could go home tomorrow.

Jane had gotten checked out, too. She had a bruise on the back of her head, two on her chest, and a possible mild concussion, which resulted in Roman turning the tables and insisting she couldn't go home until Kurt was there to keep an eye on her.

And coward that she was, she wasn't sure she was ready to face him yet.

She sank back in the chair and rubbed her hands over her face.

"You okay?" asked Roman, more serious now.

She nodded.

He hesitated for a moment and then asked, "Is it Shepherd that's bothering you?"

"Shepherd? No."

Her thoughts about Shepherd were much clearer. She'd known that Shepherd was prepared to kill them. But the casual way she'd swung the wrench at Roman's skull—and the determination in her eye as she'd done so—had sealed her fate from Jane's perspective.

"She was a lousy mother, I guess," said Roman, picking at the blanket, "but she was all the family we had."

Jane leaned forward and wrapped her hand around his. "We have each other," she told him firmly. "And that's more than a lot of people have."

He squeezed her fingers and nodded slightly. "And you have Weller."

"Yeah," she agreed hollowly.

Roman frowned. "Is everything okay with you two?"

She pulled her hand away. "He killed Nas today. Because of me."

"She tried to kill you, Jane," he said flatly.

"I know." She fumbled for the words to explain. "I've brought so much pain and suffering into his life." First as a restored Taylor Shaw, bringing him hope and closure and then tearing it apart. She'd pushed him to reconcile with his father. She'd destroyed Mayfair and was responsible for her death, just as she was for all the agents who died at the Sandstorm compound, agents that Kurt had sent on _her_ intel.

Roman was watching her with troubled eyes.

She swallowed. "They were lovers. Kurt and Nas."

"He was _cheating_ on you?" His shocked expression gave way to outrage.

"No," she said quickly. "Before we were married. They broke it off. But he… he cared about her." Of course, he did. She didn't think it was in Kurt to sleep with a woman and not care about her at least a little bit. It was just the kind of man he was. Jane knew he didn't love _her_ , his fake wife, but he cared about her. At least a little bit. And he had cared about Nas, too.

 _I'm not going to let anything happen to_ anyone _I care about,_ Kurt's voice echoed in her head.

"He cared about her. And tonight he had to kill her." Another impossible, unendurable burden that Jane had laid upon his shoulders.

Roman was still staring at her, not understanding. "You're his _wife,_ Jane. If I loved someone and they were in danger, I'd pull the trigger without thinking twice."

Her breath caught in her throat. Because Kurt _didn't_ love her, and he _would_ think twice. He'd dwell on it the rest of his life, just as he had Taylor's loss.

"When you thought Shepherd had killed me," Roman continued, not giving up, "did you hesitate to kill her?"

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "It's not the same thing, Roman."

"It's _exactly_ the same thing. You protect the people you love. Even if it's from people you care about."

"Weller doesn't love me." The words tumbled out before she could stop them. "He married me to keep me away from the CIA and so I could get citizenship if we can't find anything that shows we were ever legally adopted by Shepherd. Now that Shepherd's gone, the FBI won't need me, and with Nas gone, the NSA and the CIA probably won't either. So we can file for divorce." And maybe that was the very best thing she could do: Get the hell out of his life before she did any more damage.

Roman blinked. He opened his mouth and then shut it again.

Jane rubbed her forehead. Where were you supposed to go for quick divorces? Las Vegas? Or was that just for quick weddings?

"You think Weller doesn't care about you?"

"He cares. We're…. friends."

"Friends." Roman crossed his arms. "You're sleeping together."

Blood rushed to her cheeks. "People can sleep together without being in love," she said tartly. "We're married. It was… convenient."

Roman gave a loud bark of laughter. "Ow." He reached up to touch the bandage on the back of his head. "That hurt." He looked back at Jane. "Convenient. Sure."

Jane shifted in her seat. How had she ended up discussing her sex life with her brother, anyway?

"You're in love with him, aren't you?" asked Roman, suddenly serious.

She looked away. "It doesn't matter."

"It matters. Talk to him, Jane."

She gave a small, noncommittal, "Hmmm." She wasn't about to throw her unrequited feelings at Kurt. The last thing in the world she wanted to do was give him yet another burden to feel guilty about.

"You should get some rest," she told Roman, changing the subject. She had no idea what time it was by now, but it had to be nearly dawn. They were going on twenty-four hours without sleep.

The look he shot her told her he knew exactly what she was doing, but he closed his eyes obediently anyway.

She curled her legs up under her, turning sideways in the chair. But the sky outside the window had turned to pink before she was finally able to close her eyes and sleep.

###

Kurt arrived after breakfast.

He looked like hell. He was still wearing the same clothes from the day before—although to be fair, so was Jane, minus the body armor and the bloody shirt she'd traded for a scrub shirt a nurse had given her—but there were purple smudges beneath his eyes, which were bloodshot and weary.

He stopped in the doorway, tired blue eyes studying first Jane and then Roman. "You guys okay?"

Jane nodded but let Roman answer.

"Nine stitches, no brain damage. They said I can probably go home after the doctor checks me out."

Kurt nodded. "Jane?"

She shrugged. "Some bruises. I'm fine."

He frowned as though he wanted to argue.

"She spent the night in that chair," Roman informed Kurt. "She needs to go home and get some real sleep."

"I can wait until you're released." She glared at her brother, who ignored her completely.

"My detail's out in the hall. And no offense, but they look a whole lot more well-rested than the two of you combined. Get out of here."

Jane gripped the arms of her chair.

Kurt eyed her warily. "Jane?"

Roman shot her a look. _Talk to him_.

She went, if only to prevent Roman from saying anything else to Kurt. "Call me when they release you."

"I'll text you once I'm back at the safe house. Turn off your phone and get some rest."

They didn't speak on the walk to the car. In the elevator down to the parking garage, Kurt leaned back against the wall and rubbed his eyes.

"Did you get any sleep?" Jane asked softly.

He shook his head.

The elevator chimed, and the doors opened.

Kurt led the way toward his SUV.

He fumbled for the keys, and Jane held out her hand. "I've had more sleep than you."

Kurt handed over the keys without argument.

"How did it go with Pellington?" she asked quietly, once she'd maneuvered out of the parking space.

"He was pissed that we didn't take Shepherd alive, but then they got techs in there to look at the warhead, and when they realized she had a nuke, Pellington stopped complaining." He leaned his head back against the headrest and looked over at Jane. "You and Roman are national heroes. Or you would be, if there was any part of this that wasn't highly classified."

Silver lining, she supposed. Her life was crazy enough without it being public knowledge.

She licked her lips. "What—what about Nas?"

He turned away to look back out the front windshield. "The FBI is going to turn the recording over to the NSA and let them deal with it. I'm sure they will deny all of it—the existence of Zero Division, Orion."

So all of it would be buried, including the abuses that Shepherd had fought so hard to bring to light. That Remi had sacrificed her whole being to try to expose. Right ideals maybe, but the wrong methods.

She wondered what they would do with Nas's body. How would they explain her death? What would they tell her family? But she couldn't—wouldn't—ask Kurt.

He fell silent. Jane shot glances at him out of the corner of her eye as she drove. He was so still she would have thought he was asleep, but his eyes were open, staring out the windshield in front of him.

He didn't turn to look at Jane at all, and he didn't speak again for the rest of the ride.

When they got home, they made their way just as silently up to the apartment. Jane set the keys on the kitchen counter. Their breakfast dishes still sat in the sink. Had it really been a little over twenty-four hours since they'd left? It felt like months.

"Are you hungry?" Kurt asked.

She shook her head. "I ate with Roman."

"I had something earlier. We should get some rest then." He turned toward the bedroom, and Jane trailed behind.

He crossed to the window, turning his back to her and looking out at the city full of activity below them.

Jane hesitated in the doorway. For the first time since she'd started sleeping in this room, she didn't feel like she belonged here. Should she offer to go sleep in her old room? She was too tired, too worn out to know what she should do. She folded her arms across her midsection, suddenly realizing that she was still wearing the borrowed scrub shirt and blood-stained pants. "I should shower."

"Yeah." He turned his head a little—not enough to actually look at her—to direct his words over his shoulder. "Me too. You go ahead." And then he turned back to the window, shoving his hands into his pockets, his shoulders sagging as though the weight of the world rested there.

Bringing down Sandstorm should have been a win for him, a major victory for the NYO with him at the helm. He had devoted so much time and energy to this case, made so many professional and personal sacrifices… like their marriage. He'd won—they'd stopped Shepherd before she could carry out Phase Two, saving an untold number of lives—and yet he was the one who looked defeated.

She knew she should just go, leave him alone. But something inside her couldn't bear to leave him like this, even when she knew she was the last person he would want comfort from.

She took a step toward him and swallowed. "I'm sorry," she said. "A-about Nas."

He turned then to finally face her. "What?"

"I'm sorry about Nas."

He frowned, but looked more uncomprehending than angry, so she forged ahead. "I know you cared about her. And I'm sorry that you…" _Had to kill her because of me._

He shook his head. "She _shot_ you, Jane."

"I know, but—"

"She shot you, while _I just stood there and watched_."

She blinked. "You couldn't have known she would—"

"She was pointing a gun at you in a firing stance. We are trained to respond in these situations. I could have drawn her fire. I could have aimed at her vest. I could have done just about anything, but instead I just stood there and let her shoot you."

Jane frowned at him in confusion. "But you did save me. She was going to kill me. She didn't know I had a vest on, but she would have checked, and as soon as she did, she would have shot me again. And then she would have shot Roman." Nas was nothing if not thorough. "But you stopped her before…"

But clearly, in Kurt's mind, that was too little and far too late. "I should never have let you and Roman go in there. Both of you nearly died today. And that was my call."

"No, it wasn't." She stalked over to him and planted her hands on her hips. She wasn't going to let him beat himself up over guilt on her behalf. "Roman and I _chose_ to go. And Pellington okayed it. If you hadn't gone with us, he would have sent someone else, and maybe then we both would be dead. But we're not, because you came after us." The FBI wasn't supposed to move until she and Roman had reported back to them—which they hadn't—which meant that Kurt had disobeyed a direct order and risked his entire career to come after them.

He shook his head, face drawn and grim. "I stood there, with a gun in my hand, and let her shoot the woman I love. Don't make me out to be some kind of hero."

"You saved my life," she argued stubbornly. And then the rest of what he'd said sank in. _Wait. What?_ "You love me?" Her voice cracked on the word _love_.

He looked almost as startled as she felt, and she knew he hadn't meant to say it, but he squared his shoulders and met her gaze. "Yeah. I do."

It took her two tries to force words past the lump in her throat, and even then they came out barely above a whisper. "I love you too, Kurt."

He didn't move, just stared at her face as though he didn't quite believe what she'd said either.

She took one step toward him, then another, and then he moved too. There was such a feeling of relief when his arms finally closed around her, as though her universe had locked into its correct place with an audible _click_.

"Are you sure?" His voice was barely more than a growl as he rested his forehead against hers.

She tilted her face up and kissed him instead of answering.

In his kiss, she tasted all of the fear he'd felt when he'd thought she was dead, just as her own desperate kiss revealed how frightened she'd been that she would never get to hold him again, never get to kiss him again. _Never get to tell him that she loved him._

And then she stopped thinking at all. Passion flared, hot and needy, and she tightened her arms around him. And winced in pain as the motion put pressure on her bruised chest.

He drew away slightly, just far enough that he could see her face. He cupped her cheek in his hand. "You need a hot shower. And some rest."

She scowled, and he smiled for the first time, seeming lighter than he had in days. "I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you."

For once, they had time.

She let him steer her toward the bathroom. He started the shower so the water could heat up, and she reached for the hem of her shirt to pull it off, but he brushed her hands away. "Let me."

She cooperated long enough for him to pull the shirt over her head, and then she reached for the buttons on his shirt, only for him to stop her again.

"This will go faster if you let me help," she grumbled.

"Just… let me take care of you for once, okay?"

"I can—"

"I know you _can_. You're the most independent person I know. But you don't have to be all the time. You can let me help you sometimes, all right?"

And suddenly they weren't talking about the shower any more.

Jane swallowed. She knew he was right. She didn't let herself depend on anyone else. She'd learned the hard way that they wouldn't be there if she needed them, so it was easier just to depend on herself, to not need anyone. She looked up into his eyes.

He was waiting, patiently. He _loved_ her. She couldn't quite wrap her brain around that yet, but she knew that she trusted him. He wouldn't let her down if she needed him. And whether she was able to admit it out loud or not, she _did_ need him.

She lowered her arms to her sides and gave him a tiny nod.

He leaned in to press a quick kiss her forehead and then went back to helping her with her pants and boots.

When she was naked, she stepped into the shower, as he shed his own clothes and followed her in.

It wasn't the first time they'd showered together, but it was different this time. Desire was still there, but it was subdued by fatigue and overlaid by a far more powerful emotion.

She felt foolish at first, tilting her head forward to let him wash her hair, holding still as his fingers moved carefully around the bruise on the back of her head. But then she caught sight of the agonized look in his eyes as he carefully moved the washcloth over the bruises on her chest and realized it was as much for his benefit as it was for hers. If it made him feel better—if taking care of her alleviated some of the guilt he felt for believing that he'd somehow let her down—then she'd stand here for him forever.

She closed her eyes and surrendered to the gentle strokes of the washcloth, allowing herself to fully relax for the first time in days.

"Almost done," he murmured, turning her back into the spray so she could rinse off. "Then you can sleep."

She took the washcloth from him. He tried to stop her, but she raised up on her tiptoes and kissed him, whispering, "Shhh, my turn," against his lips.

She'd gotten to know his body almost as well as her own. Knew his scars as well as he knew her tattoos. He was a warrior, just as she was, and had the scars to prove it, as did she. But they were marks of survival, a testament that they both still breathed, in spite of the efforts of those who'd tried to stop them. She pressed a kiss to the tiny scar on his neck, where he'd had surgery to repair a near-fatal wound to his jugular. He'd been so worried about her that day that he'd checked himself out of the hospital mere hours after surgery. And she wondered suddenly how long he'd loved her. Had she simply been oblivious, so sure that he would never return the feelings she had for him?

"Mmmm." Kurt rested his cheek against the top of her head, and she leaned against him for a minute before resuming her work with the washcloth, across shoulders that were strong enough to support her when she wasn't strong enough to stand, down arms that would fight for her if she couldn't fight for herself. She took extra time washing his hands, which had fired a gun at a friend today to save her life, no matter how he would pretend it didn't matter. It did. He would carry it with him just as she would carry the knowledge that she'd ended her mother's life today. But maybe together they could help each other shoulder those burdens.

She stroked the washcloth lower, and Kurt sucked in a breath and closed his eyes, before reaching out to catch her wrist and pull her hand away.

She pursed her lips in a pout.

"Rest first," he told her, leaning in to kiss her as he took the washcloth from her.

She wrapped her arms around his waist, content for the moment just to hold him and be held under the soothing spray of the shower. They stayed that way, in a dreamy state that wasn't sleep yet wasn't fully awake either, until the water grew cool.

"Time for bed." Kurt kissed her shoulder and then let her go to shut off the tap. He wrapped a towel around her before reaching for one for himself.

They dried off quickly and stumbled back into the bedroom. Kurt paused to shut the blinds, although the now mid-day sun still illuminated the room, before sliding into bed beside Jane.

He settled on his back, and she rolled over to drape herself across him, sliding her hand across his stomach and watching him through half-open eyes.

She leaned up to kiss his chin. "I know something that will help both of us sleep."

His lips quirked up and he reached up to brush her still-damp hair away from her face. "We don't need help sleeping. You're exhausted." And she was, and so was he, but…

"I need you," she whispered. Needed to feel connected to him in that simplest, most elemental way. Needed to remind herself that they were still alive and together.

And she needed to remove the shadow in his eyes when he looked at the bruises on her chest.

She kissed him again, on his lips this time, and any token resistance he might have given was lost. She might have been the one who had said it, but he needed her, too. She could feel it in the slightly desperate way he kissed her and the gentle urgency of his hands tracing across her skin, as though he couldn't help but reassure himself that she was alive and whole.

She rolled onto her back, drawing him with her, needing his weight to anchor her.

He was careful to brace himself up on his forearms to keep his weight off her chest, as his lips traced her bird tattoo, then settled on the spot that made her breath catch in her throat.

But she didn't need extensive foreplay this time, she just needed _him_. She smoothed her palms down the planes of his back, pulling him into the cradle of her body, and he surrendered helplessly to her wordless demands.

When he was sheathed fully inside her, he paused, holding himself above her. He looked down at her, his throat moving as he swallowed. And she understood, because words were too paltry to convey her feelings at that moment, too. She reached up to touch his cheek, and he dropped his forehead to rest against hers.

They were both too tired to do much more than move languidly against each other, exchanging soft, open-mouthed kisses, reveling in every bit of contact, and staring into each other's eyes as they sought to become closer still.

Release, when it came, swept in like a tidal wave, drowning their senses and carrying in its wake a peace she'd never known before.

Before he could fall asleep and crush her, Kurt shifted his weight off of her and to the side. "Love you," he mumbled, gathering her close.

His quiet matter-of-fact utterance warmed her heart more than any grandiose declaration could ever have done.

"Love you too," she whispered back. And she finally let sleep take her, held securely in the arms of the man who had finally given her heart a place to call home.


	25. Chapter 25

_So…. seven months ago I started a "short fic" that would "give me something to do during the winter hiatus." Go ahead and laugh. :) So, 50k words and 25 chapters later… we've finally reached the end of this. THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, to all of you who have read all this way or taken the time to tell me you were enjoying it. I wouldn't have stuck with it for this long if it wasn't for you!_

 _There will probably be an epilogue at some point… I like thinking about the Wellers being happily married. It makes the inevitable Season 3 angst a little easier to take!_

* * *

Shepherd was dead, but the paperwork from her case would live forever, Kurt was sure.

It had been nearly three weeks since they'd raided the farm and the silo and taken the remaining Sandstorm troops into custody. None of them had been willing to provide any information, but the FBI had seized several computers in the raid, and Patterson was steadily working through the data on them.

He read the latest report—this one detailing financial records that the team had been able to trace back to various Sandstorm holdings—and initialed his approval at the bottom.

Pellington had opted to keep the tattoo database open for the foreseeable future. His reasoning was that the corruption that had been uncovered thus far as a result of the tattoos was real and following up on similar leads was in the best interests of the American public. Kurt was sure that part of his decision was a desire to thumb his nose at the NSA who had, as expected, buried all information that might connect them to Sandstorm or Shepherd.

In the bullpen outside his office, Tasha said something that made Jane laugh. The sound didn't carry through the glass, but the brilliance of Jane's smile drew Kurt's attention like a beacon. Beside her, even the normally taciturn Roman cracked a small grin. He and Kurt hadn't exactly become best buddies in the weeks since Shepherd's death, but Roman's attitude had warmed from completely impassive to grudgingly tolerant. Basically, as long as Jane was happy, Roman was happy.

Kurt could definitely relate to that.

"She looks happy."

Kurt nodded before realizing that Patterson was standing in front of his desk, looking out at Jane through the glass wall too.

"Um, yeah." Kurt turned back to the paperwork on his desk, trying to pretend he hadn't just been caught mooning over his wife. "What's up?"

"So do you," Patterson observed with a teasing smile.

He had to work to subdue the smile that threatened to break through. Because the thing was, he _was_ happy. Happier than he could ever remember being. But he answered neutrally, "I think we're all sleeping better at night now that Sandstorm isn't out there preparing to launch Phase Two."

He and Jane hadn't said anything to the team about the nature of their relationship. Neither of them were comfortable with public displays of affection, and they'd already been coming into work and leaving together, so it wasn't like there was any obvious change for anyone to notice.

Patterson raised her eyebrows but didn't push.

Then again, maybe they weren't doing as good a job of hiding their feelings as they thought.

"What do you have?" He nodded at the folder tucked under her arm.

"Oh! Yes, right." She pulled the folder up and then stopped, trepidation flickering in her blue eyes.

Kurt held out his hand, but she didn't let go of the file.

"These are unofficial copies, but they check out. I've requested certified duplicates. They'll be here by courier tomorrow morning."

Kurt blinked at the barrage of words and Patterson's obvious reluctance to hand the folder over. "Patterson, what's in the file?"

She swallowed. "I found Jane and Roman's adoption papers."

For a moment, Kurt didn't understand. And then, once he did, only one thought came through: _I thought we had more time._

He tugged the file out of Patterson's hands and opened it, only half-listening to her rambling explanation about South African paper records and file backlogs and overseas Army postings.

The file contained only two pages. The first was a photocopy of a faded, typed document, attesting that Alice Kruger had been adopted by Ellen Briggs on November 8, 1992.

She'd been ten years old. The same age as Sawyer was now. And at that point, she'd already been trained as a soldier. And Shepherd would continue to mold her into a weapon.

Kurt turned to the next page. A nearly identical document stated that Ian Kruger had been adopted by Ellen Briggs on the same date.

"…We still haven't found any paperwork for her name change to Remi, but if that happened here in the United States, they probably destroyed those documents when they erased Jane's military records." Patterson finally ran out of words and ground to a halt.

He closed the file and set it carefully on his desk. Pellington had agreed that both Jane and Roman could remain in the US on their FBI-validated informant visas until their paperwork was found. Both had accepted his offer to remain at the FBI assisting with the tattoos and remaining Sandstorm investigation in the interim. When the official copies arrived here in the morning, they would be free to leave FBI custody, with valid paperwork that would allow them to live and work anywhere in the United States.

He couldn't stop himself from looking out the window into the bullpen, where Jane was now pointing at something on her computer screen as she spoke to Tasha and Roman.

Jane said she loved him, and he believed that she did. But he was also uncomfortably aware that she'd said so when she had no other choices available to her.

From the moment she'd crawled out of that bag in Times Square, she hadn't had any say in what happened to her. Yes, she'd chosen to marry him, but only because the alternative was possibly being sent back to the CIA.

What if falling in love with him had simply been her way of making the best of a bad situation?

And then there was the envelope full of money that he'd found in the bottom of Jane's dresser drawer when he'd been putting her laundry away, not long after she'd moved her things into his bedroom. He hadn't asked her about it. He knew what it was for. If she wanted to leave, all she'd have to do was to throw her meager possessions in a bag and grab the envelope, and she could disappear without a trace. He'd hoped that she would feel safe enough with him that eventually the envelope would go away, but it was still there the last time he'd looked.

"I won't say anything to Jane or Roman. You can… take your time." Patterson eyed him worriedly.

Kurt pulled himself together. "No, I'll give them to Jane tonight."

He'd given her his word when he'd made her his offer of marriage. His offer of _temporary_ marriage. _It's three years at the most,_ he'd told her. _Maybe a lot less._

Maybe less than two months.

He'd told her that it would just be until they found her paperwork, which they had. She'd helped stop Shepherd, she'd done everything that the FBI and the NSA had asked of her. She had more than earned her freedom, both from the FBI… and from him, if that was what she wanted.

She had the right to choose.

"It doesn't have to… _change_ anything," Patterson said, a reassuring expression on her face.

Kurt wanted to believe that it wouldn't. But there was another part of him that expected the rug to be pulled out from under him. Experience had taught him that was how things usually went. He'd thought he'd regained faith in his father, only to find out he'd killed Taylor. He thought he'd found Taylor, alive and well, and then he'd dug up her tiny bones. Whenever he'd been happiest, something happened to show him it had only been an illusion.

But god, this time he had wanted it to be real.

# # #

Jane eyed Kurt out of the corner of her eye as they rode the elevator up to their apartment. Something was bothering him. He'd been quiet the whole way home, answering her attempts to talk about dinner with distracted grunts until she'd given up.

She'd let him stew about whatever it was until they were done eating dinner, she decided. And if he still wasn't willing to talk about it, she was going to drag him off to bed early. If she couldn't help him work through it, at least she could distract him from whatever it was.

"So," she said brightly, as she preceded him through the door. "You're okay with pickled pig's feet for dinner?"

He didn't even crack a smile as he dropped his briefcase on a stool. "Yeah, sure."

She stopped then, putting her hands on her hips and rotating to face him.

But he wasn't looking at her. He'd pulled a folder out of his briefcase and was staring down at it.

A shiver of worry skittered down her spine. The last time she'd seen him looking this grim, she and Roman had been heading off to find Shepherd.

"What's that?" she asked.

He looked at the file and drew a deep breath. He held the folder out to her. "Patterson found your adoption records."

She blinked, staring blankly at the file. Whatever she'd expected him to say, it definitely wasn't that.

She reached out slowly to take it from him and flipped the cover open. There were only two pages inside, and it took her no more than a few seconds to skim the contents and verify that they were what he said.

"You're free, Jane. You can go anywhere you want."

She looked up at him then as his words sank in, leaving her off-balance.

"I'm sure Roman will be glad," she said carefully. She didn't want to go anywhere but right here. And he knew that.

Didn't he?

"You don't have to stay here," he said.

She sucked in a breath, feeling as though he'd kicked her in the gut.

He… didn't want her to stay?

She tried to read his face, but for the first time in a long time, she couldn't read his expression at all. He seemed distant. Unemotional.

As though he was pushing her away.

Which made no sense. She stared at him, trying to make some sense of his words.

Kurt _loved_ her. She knew that, with every fiber of her being.

Regardless of how their marriage had started, he wouldn't just throw it away. He wouldn't push her away. He couldn't, any more than she could push him away.

The fingers on her left hand curled reflexively around the gold band he'd placed on her ring finger. And then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kurt's left hand curl into a fist, protecting his ring the same way.

Clarity struck in a rush, and she suddenly understood.

The idiot thought he was being _noble_.

She sucked in a deep breath, torn between the need to hug him and the urge to smack him for having so little faith in her. In _them._

Very slowly, she walked toward him, watching as his chin lifted up, as though preparing himself for a blow.

 _Idiot._

She stopped right in front of him. "Then I'll go pack my things."

If she hadn't been so close, she would have missed the muscle that twitched in his jaw. The rest of him stayed completely, unnaturally still, as he held himself in place with a control that would have been impressive had she not been so aggravated. He blinked, and for one brief second, she caught sight of the utter bleakness there, before blankness descended like a curtain and his gaze traveled to some distant point beyond her shoulder.

She reached out and wrapped her hand around his fist, her thumb stroking gently across the gold band that matched her own. "I'll go… just as soon as you look me in the eye and tell me that you don't love me and that you want me to go."

He closed his eyes for a second. "I can't tell you that," he said, in a voice lost somewhere between a growl and a whisper.

"Okay then." She was close enough that she could feel the warmth from his body. Close enough that he could kiss her if he were to bend his neck slightly. But the only contact between them was her hand on his. And he didn't move.

"You've never had a choice. Not since you came to the FBI. You should choose, Jane." He swallowed. "Choose what's best for you, not for me, not for anyone else."

She would have sighed from pure exasperation, had he clearly not been so agonized. He couldn't really think that she would stay with him just because she didn't want to hurt his feelings?

"Fine," she said to his jaw, since he still refused to look at her. She leaned in the rest of the way to rest her cheek against his shoulder, where it damn well belonged. "I choose you. I will _always_ choose you."

He moved then, his hands coming up with a jerk to rest upon her shoulders. He didn't push her away, but he leaned back, away from her, so he could tilt his head to look into her eyes. "Are you sure? You could go anywh—"

She raised up on her toes and put her mouth on his to shut him up before he said anything else stupid. His lips stilled, but he didn't quite kiss her back. "This is where I want to be," she said, pulling her mouth only far enough away from his to get the words out, her lips brushing against his as she spoke.

And then she felt him shudder, as though his resolve had physically given way, sending an aftershock through his whole body, and his arms moved to grip her firmly. "You have to be sure." His voice was gravelly and broken. "Because I won't be able to let you go if you change your mind."

She brought her free hand up to cup his face, rubbing the pad of her thumb along the line of tension in his jaw. "I'm not going to change my mind. Not ever."

And then his arms tightened as he pulled her flush against him, burying his face in her neck. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him as hard as she could. This was home, here in his arms, and it always would be.

She didn't know how long they stayed that way, but it was a good while before his arms loosened up enough for him to raise his head and look at her.

He opened his mouth, and she could tell from the look on his face that he was going to ask her if she was sure again. She shot him a quelling look that told him, in no uncertain terms, not to bother asking her again. The lines in his face smoothed, and his lips quirked up.

Her own lips curled into a smile then, only to open in a small yelp as Kurt scooped her up.

She would have demanded that he put her down—or twisted to break free from his hold—but he was heading toward the bedroom, and that was where she wanted to go, too, so she did neither.

But when they got to their bedroom, he sat her gently on the edge of the bed and stepped back. "Close your eyes."

She frowned at him. "Why?"

"Close your eyes," he repeated. And something in his voice told her to obey.

She heard him open a drawer and then close it again. And then he took her hand in his and set something small and lightweight in her palm.

"Open your eyes," he said quietly.

A small velvet box sat in the palm of her hand. The lid was raised, revealing a delicate gold ring set with a rectangular emerald. The stone was the same dark green as the necklace she wore tucked against her heart, hidden beneath the fabric of her shirt. It was more polished than the raw emerald, but just as luminous.

"We've done this all backwards." Kurt was kneeling by her feet, both hands cupped around her hand holding the ring. "I asked you to marry me before I told you I loved you. So now…" He swallowed and looked up at her. "Jane Weller, will you please _stay_ married to me? For the rest of our lives?"

She tried to smile, but her lips were trembling too hard. It took her two tries to push the single word past the lump in her throat.

"Yes."

Her hand was shaking, but she held it out, palm down and fingers splayed, as he pulled the ring from the box. He slipped it carefully over the tip of her finger, and slid it into place beside her wedding band.

And then everything got kind of blurry, and she had to blink away the tears in her eyes.

He squeezed her fingers, and she realized that he had tears in his eyes, too.

She reached up with the hand he wasn't gripping and wrapped her hand around the back of his neck, bringing her forehead to rest against his. "I love you. _So much_."

"I love you, too, Mrs. Weller." And then he stood up, scooping her up in his arms and pulling her close. He tilted his face down to look deep into her eyes as he added solemnly, "For as long as we both shall live."

THE END


End file.
